^        UCNRLF 


I 


UB/?ARY 

UNIVC-ITY  OF 


Any  person  residing  temporarily  in  Machias  may 
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to  ■  aie  week,  or  less  than  one  week. 

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shall  lend  it  to  any  one  not  a  member  of  the  same 
household. 

Persons  holding  books  beyond  the  specified  time 
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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


__  PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
jy^'H     (^/■(f-m,  MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


Id-^n 


(Q(^f^!^itr^  ^^<    S^^j^i-<^^/ 


*««/     Q^tc^f.    /,    Z^^'- 


/%-v 


r 


THE  SATURDAY  LECTURES, 


HKI-IVKUKU  IN    IIIK 


k'ctui'c-Rooiii  of  tli('  U.  S.  Xational  Museum, 


unhfji  tmr  atspicks  ok  thk 


AiitliropolofficalaiiilBiokii'alSiii'idi 

0  0 


liO 


OF  WASHINGTON, 


IN    MARCH    ANr>    APRIT..    1882. 


D.    T.OTIIROP   &    CO. 
30  ^:  ;;2  FRANKT.IN  STREKT.  BOSTON.  M.\SS. 

WASIIINriTON,   I).   ('.  : 

JUDD  &.  DKTWETLF.R,   PUINTP:KS  AND    I'l' lU.ISHEU.^. 

1882. 


// 


^i^y^p/^^n  Mu 


CONTENTS. 


InlioliKtory  Addros.      lU   Major  J.  \V.  I'owell.  Director  U.  S.  Gcoloi^icnl 

Survey . ' 

Scientific  ami  Pojmlar  Views  of  Nature  (^ontrasterl.      By  Prof.  TIu-o.  Ciiil.  5 

What   i-   Antl)roiX)lo}jy  ?      By  I'rnf.  Otis  T.  Mason    .i 25 

Contrast>  of  the  Appalachian  Mountains.      By  Prof.  J.  \V.  Chickcrinjj.  Jr.  44 

Outlines  of  Socioloijy.      P.y  Major  J.  W.  I'oweil '>0 

Little  Known  Facts  aliout  Well  Known  AnininU.      By  Prof.  C.  V.  Riley.  S3 

Paul    Broca   and   the    French   School   of    Anthropolojjy.      By    Dr.    I<ol>ert 

Fletcher -  I';, 


Deci)-Sea  Explorations.      By  Prof.  Wni.   II.  D.ill 
IIow  we  See.      Bv  Dr.  Swan  M.  Biirnelt .. 


>4.5 
•63 


(iii) 


j7,3-o7G8 


INTKODUCTORY  ADDRESS 

My  J.   \V.   I'owi  II. 
Director,  U.  S.  Geoloi^ieal  Survey. 


On  the  occasion  of  the  delivery  of  the  first  of  tiie  Saturday  Lectures,  the  fol- 
lowing remarks  were  made  by  Major  J.  W.  PowElx  : 

For  luuuy  years  tlic  Geue-nil  Lrovernnient  lias  been  proseculiiig 
scieutific  research  through  various  agencies.  The  field  of  these  in- 
vestigations is  wide. 

For  a  long  time  geological  surveys  have  existed  iu  various  forms. 
In  the  study  of  the  structure  of  the  earth's  crust — the  mountains 
and  j)lain.s,  the  hills  and  valleys  have  been  traversed,  and  rocks, 
iniiierals  and  fossils  collected  ;  and  by  these  fos.sils  we  come  to  a 
knowledge  of  the  way  in  which  the  ancient  earth  was  clothed  with 
vegetation,  and  of  the  animals  that  lived  in  the  ancient  seas,  lakes, 
and  rivers,  and  roamed  over  the  lands. 

During  all  these  years  biologists  have  been  at  work  stuflying 
the  plants  and  animals  that  now  live  upon  the  earth  and  collecting 
biologic  materials  from  every  laud. 

During  all  these  years  anthropologists  have  been  at  work  study- 
ing the  native  races  of  America  and  collecting  their  works  of  art. 

Since  the  foundation  of  the  Smithsonian  lustitution,  it  also  has 
in  all  these  dej)artments  promoted  research  and  collected  scientific 
materials  tor  study,  enlisting  in  its  corps  of  collaborators  men  or 
every  part  of  the  United  States — yes,  of  every  land  and  every  clime. 

Since  the  organization  of  the  Fish  Commission,  the  nations  of  the 
seas,  and  the  tribes  of  tin;  lakes  and  the  rivers,  have  been  studied. 
Through  these  agencies,  and  yet  many  others,  there  has  accumulated 
in  Washington,  in  the  custody  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  a  large 
bodv  of  material  which  has  been  the  basis  of  a  vast  .system  of  scien- 
tific research  and  publication.  The  General  Government  is  now 
annually  publishing  from  20  to  oO  large  volumes — the  monographs 
and  memoirs  of  scientific  research — and  the  rate  of  publication  is 
rapidly  increasing. 

These  materials  have  already  performed  an  important  purpose — 
greater  than    can     be    estimated,    but    tJteir    value    is   perennial. 


2  INTRODUCTORY    ADDRESS. 

With  every  advance  made  iu  science  the  old  material  must  be 
re-examined  for  new  facts,  and  to  discover  new  relations.  In  this 
manner  all  are  to  go  on  increasing  in  value  from  decade  to  de- 
cade with  the  advance  iu  human  knowledge.  In  future  years  the, 
scientific  men  of  the  world  must  resort  to  the  National  Museum  at 
Washington,  to  pursue  or  to  complete  their  studies.  It  was,  there- 
fore, the  part  of  wisdom  for  the  National  Legislature  to  provide 
means  for  the  preservation  of  this  great  collection,  and  to  provide 
also,  for  its  re-examination  and  increase. 

These  materials  are  not  alone  of  interest  to  the  scientific  speci- 
alist. They  have  an  interest  and  value  to  all  intelligent  people 
under  whose  eyes  they  fall — a  value  that  depends  largely  on  their 
orderly  arrangement  and  classification  ;  so  that  the  great  facts  and 
principles  of  the  many  sciences  represented,  may  be  presented  in 
birds-eye  views  to  inquiring  students. 

Such  are  the  functions  of  the  National  Museum,  and  the  Insti- 
tution is  destined  to  exert  an  ever-increasing  influence  in  the  pro- 
gress of  science. 

In  order  that  all  possible  benefits  may  accrue  from  the  enterprise 
it  is  proposed  to  establish  a  series  of  popular  science  lectures  in  this 
hall.  Here,  then,  are  presented  the  simpler  lessons  taught  by  the 
works  of  nature. 

It  is  no  easy  task  to  explain  the  subject-matter  of  the  various 
branches  of  science  iu  such  a  manner  that  facts  and  principles  may 
be  easily  grasped  by  those  who  are  not  specialists.  A  clear  com- 
prehension of  any  scientific  subject  is  always  accompauied  by  a 
power  to  clearly  present  the  subject  to  scholars  iu  the  same  depart- 
ment. A  failure  to  present  science  to  scientific  men  is  fundamental 
evidence  of  failure  in  comprehension.  But  to  present  a  scientific 
subject  to  those  who  are  themselves  not  specialists  or  scholars  in  the 
specific  department  in  such  manner  that  they  will  be  interested  and 
instructed  is  no  easy  task.  The  man  with  this  power,  with  this 
genius,  is  rare.  He  must  be  ready  with  illustration,  apt  iu  the 
selection  of  non-technical  words,  clear  and  forcible  in  his  presenta- 
tion, and  especially  must  he  be  devoid  of  that  pedantry  which  loves 
to  revel  in  a  wealth  of  details  and  technicalities,  and  he  must  so 
master  his  subject  as  to  be  thoroughly  saturated  with  it.  Then 
every  word,  every  tone,  and  every  gesture,  will  convey  a  thought. 

The  course  is  inaugurated  this  afternoon  by  a  lecture  on  Scientific 
and  Popular  views  of  Nature  Contrasted. 

Since  man  first  inhabited  the  earth,  two  methods  of  thought  have 


IN'lHoDirroKV    ADhllKSS.  3 

fxi>t«(l  >iiie  l)v  ^n\v — two  \vay.<  ot"  cxplaiiiiiit;  tliiiiL'-.  In  tin-  Kucky 
Mi)iintains  you  may  hear  an  liulian  explain  llic  raiiihow  with  all 
ils  beautiful  colors  as  the  serpent  that  ahrade-s  the  tirnianu'nt  of  ice 
to  give  us  snow  in  Winter  and  rain  in  Sununer.  He  sees  itd  coil, 
he  sees  its  stripes,  he  sees  it  against  the  sky  of  ice,  arttl  he  sees  it  as- 
sociated with  rain  which  falls  from  above,  and  so  he  calls  it  the  Great 
.Serpent  of  the  .Storm.  The  metiiod  of  thought  by  which  he  arrives 
at  this  <-onclusiou  is  subjective  ami  superficial  analogies  arejjsed  as 
the  basis  of  conclusions.  The  man  of  science  .sees  in  the  rainbow 
the  analysis  of  white  light  into  it^  constituent  colors. 

The  method  of  thought  is  objective,  and  essential  iiomologies  are 
used  as  the  basis  of  his  explanation.  But  these  two  methods  of 
thought  appear  in  all  stages  of  civilization  and  among  all  peoples. 
Subjective  thought  aud  anal.>gic  reasoning  appear  on  the  oue  hand, 
objective  thought  and  homologic  reasoning  ou  the  other  ;  aud  it  thus 
happens  that  in  all  the  domain  of  Nature  there  is  a  vast  body  of 
phenomena  that  receives  two  explauation.s — a  popular  aud  a  scien- 
tific. But,gra<lually,  the  scientific  method  is  becoming  the  popular 
method,  and  scientific  methods  are  being  accepted  and  understood 
more  aud  more,  as  the  years  pass,  by  the  intelligent  people  of  civil- 
ization ;  and  it  is  the  purpo.se  of  the  lectures  inaugurated  this  day 
to  bring  popular  and  scientific  thought  into  harmony.  Such  is  the 
tjisk  Professor  Gill  proposes  for  himself.  May  lie  abundantly  suc- 
ceed. 

Ladies  aud  geutlemeu  :   1  have  the  honor  to  present  the   learued 
aud  eloquent  lecturer,  Professor  (iill. 


SCIENTIFIC  AM)  POI'CLAR  VIKWS  OF  NATURE 
CONTRASTED. 

Lecture  (Iclivircil  in  the  National  Museum,  W.ishinj^ton.  I).  C.  March  ii.  1882, 
l>v  Prof.   TiiKo.  Gii.i . 


LaDI  KS    a  M  •    (I  KN  IIJCM  KN  : 

I  feci  lotli   to  (oniiiu'iici-  my  Icctinf  iiltcr  the  flattering 
introdiKticui  of  Major  Powvll,  for  ho  has  led  yon  to  expect 
more  thiui  yon  will   rocoivc.  and  to  believe  that  what  you 
receive  will  1m- adorned  with  the  uraees  of  oratory  ;  but  this, 
I  assure  you.  will  not  be  the  case.     At  the  out.set,  I  shall  be 
obli<ied  to  e.\))lain  as  to  the  title  of  the  lecture  of  the  after- 
noon.    A  title  had  to  be  given,  and  that  title  had  to  be 
pith>  .     Exactly  what  ground  is  to  be  covered  is  not,  however, 
evident  from  it.     What  1  do  i>ropose  is  to  treat  of  a  very 
limited  field,  and  in  a  very  plain  and  conversational  manner 
discourse  concerning  those  relations  which  exist  Ijotween 
certain  groups  of  animals,  and  the  opposite  phases  under 
which  they  are  contemplated  by  the  .scientific  mind  on  the 
one  hand,  and  by  the  [)oj)ular  mind  on  the  other.     In  doing 
tiiis  I  shall  take  concreU-  examples,  and,  after  considering 
the  animals  adduced,  derive;  from  the  facts  presented  some 
deductions  which  aj.pear  to  be  legitimate.     I  will  now^  only 
anticipate  by  the  statement  that  the  dictum,  which  is  .so 
prevalent  in  morals  and  social  life — not  to  trust  to  appear- 
ances— is  equally  true  for  and  applicable  to  the  animal  and 
vegetable  kingdoms.     The  popuhn-  mind  in.stinctively  clas- 
sities  animals  according  to  external  manifestations  and  adap- 
tations, and  especially  with   reference  to  the  elements  in 
which  they  live,  be  it  earth,  water,  or  air.     This  system  of 
ela.ssification  i.s,  perhaps,  almo.st  coeval  with  the  intellectual 
history  of  our  race.     Over  eighteen  centuries  ago  Ovid,  the 
Latin  poet,  gave  expression  to  such  ifleas  in  the  first  book 
of    his  Metamorpho.^es  which    I   beg   to   recall    to    vou    in 
Dryden's  version ; 

•'  IJefore  the  seas  and  this  terre>trial  h.ill. 
.\ncl  heaven's  high  canopy  that  covers  all, 
( )ne  wa.s  the  face  of  nature  ;  if  .i  fcce  : 
Rather  a  nulc  and  undigested  mass  : 


b  SATURDAY    LECTUKES. 

No  sun  \va^  lii^lucd  up  tlie  world  to  view. 

No  moon  did  yet  her  Ijlunted  hours  renew, 

Nor  yet  was  earth  suspended  in  the  sky. 

Nor  poised,  did  on  her  own  foundation  lie. 

Nor  seas  about  the  shores  their  arm~  had  thrown 

But  earth,  and  air,  and  water  were  in  one. 

Thus  air  was  void  of  light,  and  earth  unstable. 

And  water's  dark  abyss  unnavigable. 

No  certain  form  on  any  was  impressed  : 

All  were  confusion,  and  each  disturb'd  the  rest. 

For  hot  and  cold  were  in  one  body  fix'd, 

And  soft  with  hard,  and  light  with  heavy,  mix'd 

Thus  disembroird,  they  take  their  proper  place  ; 

The  next  of  kin  contiguously  embrace  ; 

And  foes  are  sunder" d  by  a  larger  space. 

The  force  of  fire  ascended  first  on  high, 

.\nd  took  its  dwelling  in  the  vaulted  sky : 

Then  air  succeeds,  in  lightness  next  to  fire, 

Whose  atoms  from  unactivc  earth  retire."* 

As  to  the  mode  in  which  the  various  elements  were 
peopled,  hear  also  Ovid : 

"  Then,  every  void  of  nature  to  supply, 
With  fonns  of  Gods  he  fills  the  vacant  sky ; 
New  herds  of  beast«i  he  sends  the  plains  to  share; 
New  colonies  of  birds  to  people  air ; 
And  to  their  oozy  beds  the  finny  fish  repair. 
A  creature  of  a  more  exalted  kind 
Wa>  wanting  yet,  and  then  was  man  designed."' 

In  such  words  the  great  })oet  has  embodied  the  popular 
conception  of  the  divisions  of  nature  and  of  the  relations 
thereto  of  the  animals  which  i)eople  the  world — one  set  for 
the  earth,  a  different  creation  for  the  land,  and  a  third  for 
the  air.  These  views,  or  some  not  essentially  differing,  were 
current  until  within  a  comparatively  recent  period. 

It  is  easy  by  a  merely  superficial  examination  to  convince 

*.4nte  mare  ettellus,  et,  quod  tegit  omnia,  cojlum, 
Unus  erat  toto-naturse  vnltus  in  orbe, 
Quem  dixere  Chaos;  rudis  indigcstaque  moles; 


Hanc  Deus  et  melior  litem  natura  diremit ; 
Nam  ccclo  terras,  et  terris  abscidit  tindas  ; 

Neu  regio  foret  uUa  suis  animantibiis  orba ; 
Astra  tenent  ccclestc  solum,  formteqne  deorum  ; 
Cesserunt  nitidis  habitandie  piscihns  undoe; 
Terra  f eras  cepit;  colucres  .igitabilis  oiir. 

—Ovid  Met.  I,  I.  5-7,  21-22,  72-76. 


viicws  or   N.vn  KK  iontkastki).  7 

ourselves  that  this  tripartite  division  ol  aiiiinal  life  is  very 
incorrect.  We  sec  i)roniinent  about  us,  it  is  true,  certain 
animals  that  seem  es[)ecially  adaj)tecl  to  specilic  elements — 
the  quadrupeds  for  the  land,  the  birds  for  the  air,  and  fishes 
for  the  water ;  but  as  soon  as  we  proceed  to  a  more  detailed 
review,  and  attempt  to  collocate  with  them  the  other  animals 
that  live  on  the  earth  we  comcupon  stnniljliiiL^-blocks  in 
every  direction  and  arc  soon  forced  to  modily  and  change 
our  ideas.  Without  takin<i;  into  account  the  hosts  of  lower 
animals,  naturalists  soon  reco.<;nized  that  even  the  verte- 
brates could  not  be  combined  under  the  tripartite  division. 
Linnanis  gave  the  name  Amphibia  to  those  forms  inter- 
mediate between  the  land  animals  and  the  water  animals, 
including  the  reptiles  and  hatrachians — frogs,  salamanders, 
<fec.  But  it  was  not  till  a  long  time  afterwards  that  even 
Linnaeus  became  convinced  that  this  was  not  going  far 
enough.  Only  in  the  later  editions  of  his  work  published 
toward  the  end  of  his  life  did  he  teach  that  animals  must 
needs  be  regrouped,  and  in  a  manner  that  would  be  foreign 
to  popular  opinion.  He  first  clearly  recognized  that  whales 
were  not  fishes,  but  essentially  agreed  with  the  viviparous 
hairy  quadrupeds,  and  under  the  name  of  Mammalia  he 
first  combined  the  two  types  in  one  class.  I  presume  that 
the  major  portion  of  my  audience  recognize  in  a  sort  of 
way  the  fact  that  whales  are  not  fishes,  but  mammals,  or 
animals,  as  most  people  i)lcase  to  call"  them.  At  the  same 
time  there  is  a  fear  that  many  accept  the  dictum  without 
understanding  the  why  and  wherefore  they  are  so  consid- 
ered. It  will,  therefore,  be  my  task  this  afternoon  to  give 
some  of  the  reasons  why  the  whales  are  not  regarded  as 
fishes,  and  why  they  are  considered  to  be  mammals.  After- 
wards it  will  appear  that,  by  parity  of  reasoning,  there  will 
flow  a  series  of  deductions,  applicable  not  only  to  the  forms 
about  to  be  treated  of,  but  also  to  animated  nature  generally. 
I  doubt  not  that  if  the  question  "are  whales  fishes?" 
were  put  to  jtopular  vote,  there  would  be  an  overwhelming 
assent  to  the  ancient  belief.  Indeed  the  proposition  that 
such  is  the  case  has  l>cen  sanctioned  bv  that  "bulwark  ot 


8  SATURDAY    LECTUliKS. 

our  institutions" — a  jury  in  a  court  of  law.  About  sixty- 
years  ago,  a  case  was  brought  up  in  tlio  New  York  courts, 
involving  that  question.  It  was  a  revenue  case,  and  the 
suitor  was  one  Maurice  Judd.  It  Avas  decided  with  all 
the  formality  of  law  that  the  whale  was  a  fish !  Times  and 
ideas  have  changed  since  then,  but  not  so  much  as  to  forbid 
us  to  believe  that  essentially  the  same  views  are  prevalent 
at  the  present  day,  and  I  presume  that  the  old  verdict  ex- 
pressed the  opinion  of  the  majority  of  mankind  at  this 
time.  Indeed,  it  may  seem  presumptuous  in  me  to  differ 
from  such  high  authority  as  a  court  of  law. 

But  without  further  preface,  I  shall  now  invite  your  con- 
sideration of  the  skeletons  at  my  side,  one  of  a  porpoise, 
which  is  simply  a  kind  of  a  whale,  and  the  other  of  a 
swordfish,  which  is  a  true  fish.  I  will  contrast  the  differ- 
ences between  the  two  ;  first,  as  they  appear  in  the  flesh,  and 
then  those  which  become  manifest  on  dissection. 

As  to  form :  of  course,  superficially  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  resemblance  between  a  whale  and  an  ordinary  fish,  and 
it  is  this  superficial  resemblance  which  has  impressed  upon 
the  popular  mind  the  idea  that  the  wdiale  is  a  fish.  But, 
even  if  we  consider  onl}^  this  external  form  closely,  we  find 
that  material  differences  occur,  and  those  differences  are 
the  indications  of  very  much  greater  dissimilarity  of  ana- 
tomical structure.  In  the  fish,  the  tail,  you  will  see,  is  ver- 
tical; in  the  cetaceans  it  is  horizontal. 

In  the  skeleton  of  the  fish,  the  tail  is  composed  of  many 
bones  diverging  from  the  tail  vertebrae,  and  forming  a 
framework  for  the  vertical  fin.  The  fish  in  its  progress 
through  the  water  moves  this  fin  to  and  fro,  sideways.  In 
the  skeleton  of  the  cetacean,  there  are  no  bones  in  the  tail, 
but  the  vcrtebrrc  taper  backward,  and  have  nothing  com- 
parable to  the  bones  of  the  fish.  The  fin  is  represented 
simply  by  a  mass  of  fibrous  tissue  and  muscles,  and  it  is 
inserted  horizontally,  so  that  the  animal,  in  progressing, 
propels  its  tail  upward  and  downward. 

These  are  the  indices  of  very  important  differences.  The 
whale's  tail  is  not  at  all  like  the  fish's  tail.     The  latter  is  a 


VIKWS    nV     NAT!   Ki:    <  •  >.NrK ASTKI).  9 

peculiar  organ,  inserted  at  the  end  of  tlu;  vertebral  column, 
and  has  a  frame  work  of  bones,  developed  amund  the  last 
vertebra^  and  appended  to  them. 

Before  proceeding  further  to  discuss  the  character  of  the 
caudal  fin  of  a  whale,  let  mo  call  your  attention  to  the  fins 
which  are  developed  under  the  belly  or  middle  of  the  body 
in  the  carp  and  trout,  and  although  absent  in  the  sword- 
fish,  in  ordinary  lishes  present.  You  will  lind  nothing  eoi-- 
responding  to  these  in  ]iosition  in  the  whales,  but  I  will  now 
attempt  to  show  that  these  tins,  which  are  called  ventral 
fins,  inserted  under  the  back,  far  forward,  are  represented 
by  the  flukes  of  the  tail  of  the  whale,  which  must,  therefon;, 
be  entirely  different  from  the  tail  of  a  true  fish.  But  how 
can  this  be  ? 

You  are  all  acipiainted  with  the  external  appearance  of 
the  seal,  in  which  the  posterior  feet  are  obviously  present,  but 
are  thrown  far  backward,  and  are  to  a  great  extent  horizontal 
beyond  the  body.  Now,  imagine  these  fins,  flippers,  or  feet, 
whatever  you  may  call  them,  with  the  bones  atrophied,  or 
greatly  decreased  in  size,  and  the  integuments  and  soft  tissues 
greatly  hypertrophied,  that  is,  enlarged,  and  you  will*  see 
that  no  great  diflercnce  exists  between  such  fins  hori- 
zontally extended  backward,  and  the  flukes  of  the  whale. 
In  fact,  it  is  known,  not  only  from  anatomical,  but  from 
embryological  and  ])aleontological  data,  that  the  tail  of  a 
whale  is  essentially  the  result  of  an  excessive  development 
of  the  integuments  surrounding  the  posterior  feet,  and  the 
atrophy,  or  diminution  of,  or  even  in  some  cases  the  entire 
loss  of  the  posterior  limbs,  so  far  as  the  bones  are  concerned. 
But  the  bones  of  the  posterior  limbs  are  not  absent,  or  even 
insignificant,  in  all  si)ecies  of  whales.  In  the  right  whale 
(that  whence  the  whalebone  is  derived)  we  have  not  only  the 
pelvic  or  haunch  bones,  but  also  the  proximal  bones — those 
next  to  the  pelvic — developed  ;  that  is,  we  have  not  only  the 
bones  representing  those  which  constitute  the  pelvis  in  man, 
but  we  also  have  other  bones  connected  with  these  boners 
which  represent  the  femur  or  thigh  bone,  and  the  .succeed- 
ing or  leg  bones.     Those  bones  are  d.-veloped  still  more  in 


10  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

certain  forms  that  are  in  some  measure  intermediate  be- 
tween the  cetaceous  and  ordinary  quadrupeds ;  that  is,  in 
extinct  forms  known  under  the  name  of  Zeuglodonts  which 
have  not  existed  since  the  eocene  epocli,  and  in  ancient 
forms  of  the  group,  (Sirenians,)  to  which  tli(3  Manatee,  and 
the  Dugong  of  the  present  time  belong. 

Reverting  now  to  the  ventral  fins  of  the  fishes,  3^ou  will 
perceive  that  they  correspond  in  position  with  the  hind  legs 
of  tadpoles.  If  we  compare  the  ventral  fins  of  certain  fishes 
of  a  very  generalized  kind,  as  it  is  called — that  is,  like 
those  forms  from  which  other  fishes  and  amphibians  are 
supposed  to  have  alike  descended — with  certain  extinct 
amphibians,  also  of  a  generalized  kind  we  are  prepared  to 
recognize  a  similarity,  and  ultimately  an  equivalency  of 
those  ventral  fins  with  the  hind  feet  of  quadrupeds.  (The 
equivalency,  let  me  state  here,  is  called  homology.)  The 
so-called  generalized  fish  which  is  most  instructive  in  its 
indications  is  the  Polypterus,  (there  is  no  common  English 
name,)  of  the  Nile,  and  other  African  rivers.  The  general- 
ized amphibians  are  known  as  Lab^a-inthodonts,  etc. 

You  will,  I  think,  have  no  hesitation  in  recognizing  the 
expanded  vertical  membrane  of  the  tail  of  the  tadpole  as 
equivalent,  so  far  as  use  is  concerned,  at  least,  with  the  tail  or 
caudal  fin  of  the  fish.  Let  me  further  direct  your  atten- 
tion to  the  fact,  that  the  fish's  tail  and  the  tadpole's  tail  is 
median  as  well  as  vertical.  If  you  are  now  prepared  to 
concede  all  the  propositions  enunciated,  you  will  be  pre- 
pared likewise  to  give  assent  to  the  proposition,  that  the 
whale's  flukes  in  horizontal  position,  and  in  being  paired, 
are  more  like  the  seal's  flippers,  and  therefore  comparable 
with  the  hind  limbs ;  and  therefore  unlike  the  tail  of  a  fish. 
Inasmuch,  further,  as  the  seal's  flippers  are  modified  hind 
legs,  and  the  ventral  fins  are  also  representatives  of  the  hind 
legs,  the  whale's  flukes  are  also  modified  hind  limbs,  and 
therefore  the  flukes  and  the  ventral  fins  are  equivalent,  in 
a  homological  sense,  to  each  other. 

But  how  about  the  fore  fins  or  pectoral  feet  ?  Are  not 
thev  much  alike  in  whales  and  true  fishes? 


VIKWS    OK     NATinr.    rONTKASTKI).  11 

Externally,  the  pectoral  fins  do  look  at  lirst  sight  very 
much  alike,  hut  you  will  on  lookint;  closer  perceive  that  tus 
in  the  tail  lin,  tiie  fish's  jn^-loral  has  rays  visible  externally 
connected  hy  a  thin  mciiihranc.  while  none  such  arc  visible 
in  the  whale's  lin. 

On  taking;-  the  Uesh  I'roui  these  i)ectoral  lin>,  and  layin;; 
bare  the  bones,  you  will  at  once  perceive  how  utterly  unlike 
the  framework  of  the  limbs  arc.  in  our  two  types— the  jior- 
poisc  and  the  swordlish. 

In  the  porpoise  we  hav(>  not  the  least  ditiieulty  in  at 
once  recognizing;  the  bones  corresponding  to  the  linger 
bones  and  metacari)al  bones  of  man  and  quadrupeds  ;  next 
Ave  also  plainly  see  bones  answering  to  the  carpal  or  wrist 
bones;  then  there  are  two  bones  evidently  comparable  with 
the  Viones  of  the  forearm,  that  is,  the  radius  and  ulna  ;  and 
tinallv.  next  to  the  body,  we  see  a  single  bone  which  is 
plainly  the  c<|uivalcnt  of  the  arm-bone  or  humerus  of  man. 
Connected  with  the  arm  we  lind  a  wide;  Hat  bone  above, 
and  this,  it  is  easily  perceived,  answers  to  the  scapula  or 
shoulder  blade.  Unlike  then  as  the  pectoral  tin  of  a 
whale  seems  to  be  externally  to  the  fore  limb  of  man  or 
quadrupeds,  it  is  very  much  alike  in  the  skeleton. 

Now,  let  us  turn  to  the  fish's  pectoral  fin  and  its  connec- 
tions, and  .see  how  different  they  are  from  the  whale's.  Let 
us  take  a  salmon's  fiii  and  compare  it,  or  rather  contrast 
it  with  the  whale's.  In  the;  salmon,  far  from  iinding  great 
similarity  between  its  parts  and  the  porpoise's,  we  meet  with 
great  difHculty  in  seeing  any  approximate  agreement  even  : 
lin  ravs  are  first  noticeable  which  are  quite  unlike  digits  or 
fing(>r  bones;  at  their  ixise  are  four  loiigi-h  and  ncarlv 
parallel  but  diverging  bones,  which  remind  us  somewhat  of 
metacar[)als,  and  serve  as  a  sort  of  peduncle  to  tlu;  lin. 
Next  wc  find  a  chain  of  bones  extending  from  the  sides  of 
the  skull  behind,  and  uniting  below  with  its  fellow  of  th(^ 
opposite  side  ;  the  pair  are  known  as  the  shoulder  ginlle, 
or  scapular  arch  ;  and  remind  us  somewhat  of  the  wish- 
.  bone  or  clavicles  of  a  fowl.  To  the  inside  of  the  largest  of 
these  bones  we  see  attached  thriM   l....,,-:  wbieh  intervene  l)e- 


12  SATi:i;l)AY    I.IXTIKES. 

tween  it  and  the  (juasi-peduiK-ulatcd  tin.  Y\'hat  are  these,  and 
how  are  they  comparable  with  the  anterior  members  and 
appendages  of  a  wliale?  [  am  eom])elled  to  admit  at  once 
that  we  cannot  compare  them  directly,  and  if  we  attempted 
to  do  so,  we  would  almost  inevitably  fall  into  gross  error; 
indeed,  the  old  anatomists  who  made  the  attemp^t  did  so. 
Men,  illustrious  in  science,  like  Cuvier,  Agassiz,  and  Owen, 
considered  the  i\mv  longish  bones  we  have  noticed  as  carpals, 
and  the  two  externally  fiattish  bones  which  support  them 
as  the  radius  and  ulna.  To  ascertain  their  true  nature,  we 
have  to  avail  ourselves  of  extraneous  evidence.  I  am, 
therefore,  compelled,  in  justice  to  you  as  well  as  to  myself, 
to  make  a  .slight  digression. 

Let  us  now  examine  for  a  moment  the  skeleton  of  polyp- 
terus,  to  which  we  have  before  referred. 

The  pectoral  fin  oi polypterus  has  rays  which  are  essentially 
similar  to  those  of  the  salmon,  and  at  the  base  of  those 
rays  are  a  number  of  nearly  parallel  longish  bones  which 
resemble  the  four  at  the  base  of  the  rays  in.  the  salmon.  In 
polypterus  we  also  find  a  shoulder  girdle  which  is  not  unlike 
that  of  the  trout.  But  now  please  direct  your  attention  to 
the  inner  side  of  the  principal  bone  of  that  girdle  and 
instead  of  three  bones,  as  in  the  salmon,  you  will  find  there 
is  a  single  large  piece ;  that  piece  has  a  peculiar  kind  of 
projection  which  is  divided  b}^  a  partial  constriction  from 
the  body  of  the  bone  and  reminds  one  of  a  ball.  Ar- 
ticulating with  this  are  two  long  diverging  processes. 
Between  these  processes  is  to  be  especially  observed  a  flat 
cartilaginous  mass  which  also  intervenes  between  them  and 
the  parallel  longish  bones. 

To  understand  the  structure  thus  revealed,  examine  now 
the  pectoral  fin  and  shoulder  girdle  of  the  common  gar-pike 
of  the  Potomac  river — the  lepidosteus  osseus  of  naturalists. 
The  fin  has  rays  like  those  of  the  polypterus  and  salmon;  it 
has  also  the  longish  bones  at  the  base.  The  shoulder  girdle 
is  developed  as  in  them,  but  with  special  characters  of  its 
own.  But  the  inner  piece  attached  to  the  chief  bone  of  the 
girdle  is  especially  noteworthy.     As  in  the  polypterus,  it  is 


VIKWS    OK     NATlMtK    <  ONTKASTKI).  13 

siiugle,  but  it  otlioiwi.sc  reseiiible.s  the  tliix-o  hoiiu.s  c'oml>ine<l 
of  the  salmon,  and  the  three  elements  of  that  type  evidently 
are  the  (lisint(;;:;rated  representatives  of  the  solid  eartilage  of 
the  ti^ar.  Note  also  that  two  diverging;  cartilages  partly 
b(»und  and  partly  intervene  between  the  basal  bones  and  the 
pectoral  tin  an<l  earlilagiinous  pieces  just  described.  If  now. 
time  and  the  occasion  ]»ermitted,  I  might  submit  to  you 
other  forms,  but  I  trust  I  have  adduced  sufiicicnt  to  render 
it  possil)le  for  your  judgments  to  acce])t  the  following  jtroji- 
ositions  as  at  least  not  inii)rob:iMi  . 

The  pectoral  fin  and  sustaining  arch  of  the  lishes  in  its 
several  elements  are  referable  to  two  categoriiis. 

The  rays,  the  longish  bones  at  their  bases,  and  the  bones 
or  cartilages  that  bound  or  inclose  them  must  be  considered 
as  the  equivalents  of  the  fore  limb  of  quadrupeds. 

The  shoulder  girdle  is  to  be  considered  as  representing 
the  scapula  of  land  animals,  but  with  certain  additions. 

The  projecting  l)a]l-likc  tubercle  of  jwli/ptcriis  is  of  es- 
*  pecial  signiticance. 

Look,  now,  at  the  pectoral  tin  oi'  pal i/pterui^,  and  compare 
ii  with  the  fore  lind.)  of  a  (juadruped :  you  can  appreciate 
some  resemblance,  I  think,  between  (1)  the  diverging  pro- 
cesses thereof  and  radius  and  ulna.  (2)  The  wrist  or  carpus 
may  be  formed  out  of  the  included  and  succeeding  cartilage 
of  polijptcrus.  (o)  The  metacarpals  are  at  lea.st  simulated 
by  the  longish  parallel  l)ones  at  the  base  of  the  rays.  (4) 
The  phalanges  may  be  represented  by  the  pectoral  rays. 
Tlie  humerus  is  still  to  be  accounted  for,  and  I  am  inclined 
to  believe  that  it  is  represented  by  the  constricted  peduncle 
that  supjiorts  the  first  named  bones.  Whether  the  relations 
thus  indicated  are  true  homological  exjuessions  has  to  be 
still  ]»roved,  but  they  are,  I  venture  to  think,  probable. 
But  the  very  doubt,  still  involving  the  (juestion  is,  at  least, 
one  o\  the  most  cogent  evidences  of  th(!  great  gap  between 
the  whales  and  the  fishes. 

If  I  am  right  in  the  conjectures  thus  ad<luced  you  will 
now  see  that  while  the  fore  limb,  bone  lor  bone,  is  tlu;  .same 
in  the  whale  as  in  the  quailruped,  it  is  only  j)artially  repre- 


14  SArri;i)AY  i.ecturk«. 

sented  in  the  fish,  the  digits  being  i)r(jbably,  but  only  very 
distantly,  repeated  in  the  salmon  by  the  rays,  and  the  meta- 
carpals by  the  bones  at  the  base  thereof;  the  bones  of  the 
arm — the  radius  and  ulna  as  well  as  liumorus — are  entirely 
wanting.  The  single  scapular  or  blade  bone  of  the  whale, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  represented  by  at  least  four  pieces,  and 
connected  ^yith  the  arch  of  the  fish  are  several  other  and 
accessory  pieces. 

I  have  thus  dwelt  upon  the  fins  because  if  any  part  in 
the  whale  would  show  fish-like  modifications,  these  parts 
would,  from  their  relations  to  the  surrounding  medium,  be 
naturally  most  liable  to  exhibit  such  adaptation.  Upon  the 
other  points  in  the  structure  of  the  two  types  we  cannot  delay 
so  long. 

The  shoulder  girdle,  as  we  have  seen,  is  connected  with 
the  skull  in  the  fishes,  and  let  us  take  up  the  consideration 
of  that  next. 

Look  first  at  the  whale's  skeleton ;  note  that  the  skull,  as 
in  man's,  is  one  compact  mass,  composed  of  many  bones^ 
but  all  closely  connected  with  their  neighbors  save  the 
lower  jaw.  The  lower  jaw  is  directly  articulated  with  the 
skull,  and  it  is  also  especially  to  be  noticed  that  its  branches 
are  undivided  or  single  bones.  Let  me  add  as  an  item  of 
information  which  I  must  ask  you  to  take  on  trust  that 
there  are  ear  bones  which,  though  much  modified,  agree 
essentially  with  those  of  quadrupeds. 

Turn  now  to  the  fish's  skull ;  you  will  at  once  perceive  that 
the  skull,  contrasted  with  the  mammal's,  is  much  broken 
up.  It  has  a  brain  box,  but  that  does  not  at  all  represent 
the  entire  skull  of  the  mammals.  The  upper  jaw  bones,  the 
palate  bones,  and  others,  are  separate.  The  lower  jaw  has 
each  of  its  branches  composed  of  four  separable  elements, 
and  those  branches,  you  will  see,  have  no  direct  connection 
with  the  brain-box,  but  are  separated  by  the  intervention  of 
a  chain  of  large  bones  which  are  not  to  be  seen  at  all  in  the 
whale's  skull.  But,  nevertheless,  those  bones  are  repre- 
sented in  the  whale's  head,  and  the  bones  forming  the  sus- 
ponsorium,  as  it  is  called,  of  the  lower  jaw  have  their  repre- 


VIKWS    OF     NATURK    CONTKASTKH.  16 

sont.uivt>  ill  part  in  the  car  honrsof  tho  cetaceous  as  of  all 
otiier  maininals. 

Tluis  wc  lind  tlio  same  bones  subscrvii.'iit  lu  very  diUcr- 
«nt  functions  in  the  two  types:  in  the  mammal  to  hearinp^ :  in 
tho  lisii  servinLi  ehiolly  for  the -connection  of  parts.  The 
statement  may  evoke  your  skepticism,  but  I  must  ask  you 
to  accept  it  on  trust,  for  time  will  not  allow  mc  to  demon- 
strate its  truth.  [  can  only  pledge  myself  that  it  has,  I 
think,  been  clearly  demonstrated  that  such  is  the  case  by 
the  study  of  the  comparative  structure,  and  development  of 
many  forms,  and  by  the  collation  of  data  derived  from 
various  types  consecutively  considered. 

Connected  with  the  skull  you  will  perceive  certain  other 
bones  or  appendages.  In  the  cetacean  you  may  see  pendant 
from  the  skull  the  articulation  for  the  lower  jaw,  an  appar- 
atus composed  of  three  bones  on  each  side  connected  by  a 
central  one,  reminding  one  somewhat  of  a  pair  of  hooks  or  a 
card-rack.  These  bones  arc  known  as  the  hyoid.  In  the  fish 
you  will  of  course  at  once  recognize  the  gills,  which  are  on 
four  arches  on  each  side,  but  observe  also  another  arch  in 
front,  and  which  performs  the  function  of  sustaining  a 
membrane  attached  to  the  gill  covers.  Further  observe 
that  all  these  arches  arise  from  a  median  row  of  bones  to 
which  the  tongue  is  attached  in  front.  Let  me  recall  now 
a  fact  which  you  have  doubtless  heard  of  before — that  even 
man  as  well  as  all  other  mammals  have  gillcts  in  the  foetal 
stage  of  life,  and  of  such  gills  the  hj'^oid  bones  are  the  modi- 
fied vestiges  and  reminders,  and  they  roughly  represent  the 
gills  and  appendages  which  are  developed  so  largely  in  tho 
fishes. 

Please  direct  your  attention  now  to  tho  organs  which  serve 
for  the  aeration  of  the  blood  in  the  cetacean,  and  to  that  which 
corresponds  in  the  fish.  You  will  notice  that  in  the  for- 
mer there  are  lungs  on  each  side,  as  well  developed  and  as 
obviously  lung-like  as  those  of  man,  and  that  they  arc  con- 
nected with  the  mouth  by  a  tracheal  tube  which  has  an- 
teriorly a  thyroid  apparatus,  also  as  in  man.  On  the  other 
hand  in  the  salmon  there  is  nothing  like  a  lung,  but  in  its 


16  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

place  you  will  see  an  unpaired  membranaceous  air  bladder, 
which  is  connected  by  a  simple,  narrow  tube  with  the  oesoph- 
agus, and  in  the  swordtish,  the  tube,  even,  is  entirely  wanting, 
and  the  air  bladder  is  shut  off  from  communication  with  the 
mouth,  direct  or  indirect.  Nevertheless,  did  time  permit, 
1  could  easily  convince  you  that  the  lungs  and  air  bladder 
graduate  into  each  other,  and  that  the  two  truly  represent, 
or,  in  the  language  of  the  anatomist,  are  homologus  with 
each  other.  On  the  one  hand,  our  common  gar  has  an  air 
bladder  so  cellular  as  to  be  somewhat  lung-like ;  polypterus 
has  a  still  more  lung-like  bladder,  and  its  relation  to  the 
intestinal  canal,  also  approximates  that  of  a  lung  ;  next  a 
remarkable  fish  of  Australia,  named  ceratodus,  has  what 
may  more  properly  be  called  lungs  than  air  bladder,  and 
related  forms  of  South  America  and  Africa,  known  as  Lepi- 
dosirenids,  have  as  true  lungs  as  amphibians.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  amphibians,  reptiles,  and  mammals  show  a  gra- 
dation from  the  simple  to  the  complex  form  manifest  in  the 
last. 

Thus  it  will  be  apparent  that  the  respiration  of  fishes  and 
whales  are  effected  by  entirely  different  organs,  and  that 
the  same  organs  may  be  modified  and  adapted  for  very  dif- 
ferent purposes.  Nature  is  economical  of  her  material,  but 
most  ingenious  and  versatile  in  the  use  of  it,  and  employs 
the  same  stuff  in  many  ways. 

In  connection  with  the  respirator}^  apparatus  we  very 
naturally  consider  the  heart,  which  receives  the  blood  which 
has  coursed  through  the  bodv,  and  sends  it  to  be  purified 
and  aerated  b}^  the  respiratory  process. 

In  the  whale,  the  heart  is  partitioned  into  four  cavities  or 
chambers — a  right  auricle  and  a  ventricle,  and  a  left  auri- 
cle and  a  ventricle — as  in  man.  The  right  auricle  receives 
the  blood  which  has  circulated  through  the  veins,  and  the 
right  ventricle  transmits  it  to  the  lungs  where  it  is  oxygen- 
ated and  thence  goes  bright  and  purified  to  the  left  auricle, 
and  by  the  left  ventricle  is  transmitted  to  again  course 
through  the  vessels  of  the  body.  In  the  fish,  the  heart 
has  onlv  two  chambers;  an  auricle  collects  the  blood  that 


vii:\v>  <»i     N.virui:   (  on  ij;asti;i).  17 

has  ludirisheil  tlic  body,  a  vnitriclc  sends  it  to  bo  vivilicd 
by  tho  oxy;;cn  in  tin-  water,  whieb  UKjistens  tlic  ^ill  liia- 
nionts ;  from  the  ^^ills  it  eonnncnccs  in  a  dorsal  vessel  a 
lonj^;  course  tbroui^b  the  body,  before  a;^ain  returning  to  the 
heart.  The  bbuxl  in  the  ectaeeans  is  warm,  in  tlie  lishes  it 
is  called  cold.  Tin  dillercnccs  which  do  exist  have  been 
generally  exair.m'J'ated.  however,  and  I  only  mention  them 
because  so  much  importance  is  j)0|>ularly  attached  to  them. 
The  important  orj^ans  we  have  been  last  con.siderinii — 
tho  heart  antl  tho  lungs — are  inclosed  in  a  special  cavity  of 
tlu'  chest,  and  separated  by  a  partition  or  diaphragm  from 
the  other  viscera,  alike  in  the  whales  and  other  mammals. 
Heart  and  air  bladder  or  lungs  arc  far  apart,  and  separated 
by — not  iVom — other  viscera  in  the  fishes,  and  there  is  notli- 
ing  like  a  diaphragm  to  partition  off  a  special  cavity  for 
them. 

We  will  next  consider  the  brains  of  a  whale  and  of  a 
fish.  They  are  entirely  dissimilar.  The  brain  of  a  whale 
is  essentially  the  same  as  that  of  a  man.  and  extremely 
dift'erent  from  that  of  a  iish.  1  exhibit  the  brains  of  a 
porpoise  and  a  man.  and  you  can  contrast  them  with  the 
enlarged  figure  of  the  brain  of  a  salmon. 

These  illustrations  will  give  an  adequate  idea — at  least  so 
far  as  we  are  at  present  concerned — of  tho  structure  of  all 
i)rains  in  the  two  widely  separated  classes  comprising  man 
and  the  whales  on  one  hand,  and  the  fishes  on  the  other. 
Not  only  are  the  first  two  superficially  essentially  the  same, 
but  all  the  ])arts  are  readily  comparable,  and  tho  closer  you 
examine  the  more  you  will  be  struck  by  theii"  similarity 
rather  than  their  dillerence.  when  you  taki'  into  account 
the  diffenMices  in  the  form  of  the  body.  lint  compare  with 
the  brain  of  that,  or  any  other  cetacean,  the  brain  of  a  Iish, 
and  the  differences  are  very  marked. 

In  the  mammal  brain  the  optic  lobes  arc  represented  by 
sntall  tubercles  or  lobe,  while  in  the  Iish  they  are  of  |)re- 
ponderating  development.  The  olfactory  lobes  and  nerves 
are  entirely  concealed  by  the  cerebrum  and  even  almost 
wanting  in  the  cataceans,  l)ut  they  are  very  large,  and  ad- 


18  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

vanced  forwards  in  tlic  fish.  The  cerebellum  of  the  fish 
and  cetacean  have  an  entirely  different  structure,  and  as  to 
differences  of  detail,  they  are  innumerable. 

Those  parts  which  are  concerned  in  tlie  reproduction  and 
perpetuation  of  the  species,  are  equally  noteworthy  on 
account  of  the  close  resemblance  between  such  parts  in  the 
whales  and  in  viviparous  quadrupeds  on  the  one  hand,  and 
on  the  other,  the  differences  from  fish's.  Their  char- 
acteristics, however,  we  must  pass  over.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  as  in  man,  the  whales  are  viviparous,  and  the  young 
are  nourished  by  milk  secreted  by  the  mother.  But  it  is 
proper  to  add  that  such  characteristics  are  of  less  importance 
than  many  others  connected  with  the  organs  of  reproduction. 

Many  fishes  are  also  viviparous.  Viviparity  or  oviparity 
is  of  minor  value.  It  is  the  mode  in  which  the  eggs  and 
young  are  developed  that  is  most  significant  for  tlie  two 
classes. 

Thus  have  we  gone  over  the  various  parts  of  the  economy 
of  the  whale  and  the  fish,  and  in  every  case  we  have  seen 
that  the  structure  of  the  whale  and  man  is  very  much 
alike,  and  that  of  the  fishes  very  different. 

If  this  superficial  examination  may  be  sufficient  to  con- 
vince us  of  the  similarity  of  the  whale  and  all  other 
mammals,  a  more  detailed  examination  would  simply  add 
force,  and  the  cogency  of  cumulative  evidence  to  the  argu- 
ment, and  would  still  more  impel  belief. 

Let  us  now  take  into  consideration  another  set  of  facts. 
There  are  certain  forms  known  as  marsupials,  represented 
in  this  country  b}'^  the  opossum.  In  Australia  that  order  is 
largely  developed,  and  is  manifested  in  a  number  of  differ- 
ent forms.  There  are,  for  example,  species  very  much  like 
wolves,  others  like  mice,  and  they  are  so  called  by  the  Aus- 
tralian colonists.  Now,  if  we  considered  simply  external 
form,  we  should  be  compelled  to  separate  those  species  from 
each  other,  and  refer  them  to  widely  different  groups.  For 
example,  we  should  have  to  take  the  mice-like  marsupials, 
and  approximate  them  to  the  true  rats  and  mice,  and  the 
Tasmanian  wolf  we  would  have  to  approximate  to  the  gen- 


VIKWS     oi"     NATIMK    •  <  »NTU  AS  ri;i  •.  U* 

uiiir  wolves  jiiid  «lo^s.  Hui  a  considoratioii  of  their  anat- 
omy— that  is.  of  tlicir  luaiu,  skull  and  its  snvcral  parts,  the 
hyoid  aj.paratns.  llic  ])clvis.  the  bones  of  the  feet,  and 
the  htarl  — in  fact,  all  the  parts  of  their  organization  — 
forees  ns  to  reeo^Mii/.e  that  external  form  is  of  very  little 
eonse(juenee  in  the  appreciation  of  the  relations  of  the  ani- 
mals, and  that  we  arc  not  only  justified,  but  eomi)elled,  if 
we  wouhl  express  nature,  to  brintr  them  ton;ether  and  keep 
them  as  the  constituent*;  of  one  natural  ^roup  in  contra- 
distinction to  all  the  other  groups  that  are  represented  by 
forms  which  have  a  similar  external  appearance. 

1  need  only  remind  you  that  every  one  now  recognizes 
the  bats  as  animals. 

In  brief,  then,  mammals  may  be  described  as  animals 
which  have  no  gills,  which  breathe  by  means  of  lungs, 
have  a  quadrilocular  heart,  sending  the  blood  to  the 
lungs,  and  receiving  it  thence  and  returning  it  to  the  rest 
of  the  body  ;  a  skull  which  has  two  condyles  for  articu- 
lation with  the  vertebral  column  and  which  has  all  its 
bones  connected  by  siiture  with  or  contained  in  the  brain 
case,  except  the  lowei- jaw  ;  and  the  lower  jaw  itself  is  com- 
prised of  simple  branches  which  articulate  directly  with 
the  brain  case;  the  inner  ear  has  three  principal  ear  bones; 
the  females  are  viviparous  and  the  emltryo  developed  from 
a  very  small  egg. 

In  contrast,  fishes  can  be  characterized  as  animals  which 
are  branchiate  or  l)reath  by  means  of  gills,  whose  heart  is 
bilocular,  sending  from  one  of  its  chambers  the  blood  to  the 
gills  to  be  there  aerated  by  contact  with  the  water,  which 
contains  oxygen,  an<l  thence  to  the  remaining  portions  of 
the  body,  to  be  in  turn  taken  by  the  other  cavity  of  the 
heart:  the  skull  has  an  impaired  median  and  circular 
articulation  for  the  vertebral  column  ;  the  upi»er  jaw,  pala- 
tine, and  other  bones  are  free  from  the  brain  case,  and  inter- 
vening between  it  and  tlie  lower  jaw  is  a  suspensorium  of 
well-developed  bones ;  the  lower  jaw  is  composed  of  several 
pieces;  the  females  are  oviparous  or  ovoviviparous. 


20  SATUllDAY    LECTURES. 

Such  are,  in  brief,  a  few  of  the  distinctions  between  fishes 
and  mammals. 

The  class  of  mammals  contains  forms  fitted  for  progres- 
sion on  land,  as  bipeds  (man)  and  quadrupeds;  for  flight  in 
the  air,  i\s  bats;  and  for  exclusive  life  in  the  water,  as 
whales. 

The  class  of  fishes  comprises  not  only  animals  with  the 
usual  fish-like  form  exemplified  in  the  salmon  and  perch, 
but  broad  flattened  fishes  like  the  angler  or  goose-fish,  and 
others  of  snake-like  form  as  the  eels. 

Mere  form,  then,  is  of  no  consequence  in  the  determina- 
tion of  the  major  relations  of  animals  and  is  of  importance 
only  in  ascertaining  the  relations  of  minor  groups.  Every 
t3^pe  of  nature  which  we  examine  brings  to  us  evidence  of  the 
truth  of  this  proposition.  Animals  which  have  the  great- 
est external  resemblance  may  be,  when  anatomically  con- 
sidered, most  unlike,  and  vice-versa,  animals  which  are 
very  different  in  external  appearance,  may  exhibit  great 
similarity  in  internal  structure.  I  might  adduce  very  num- 
erous illustrations  of  the  prevalence  of  this  truth,  but  the 
advancing  moments  warn  me  that  I  must  bring  my  re- 
marks to  a  termination.  I  shall,  therefore,  conclude  with 
certain  deductions  that  are  to  be  derived  from  the  studies 
in  which  ^ye  have  been  engaged,  and  justify  the  title  which 
1  have  selected  for  the  discourse,  by  a  contrast  of  the 
methods  involved  in  the  classification  of  the  animals  we 
have  been  examining. 

The  uninstructed  observer  instinctively  considers  animals 
with  regard  to  their  external  form. 

The  naturalist  has  learned  to  distrust  external  form,  and 
to  consider  internal  structure  as  paramount. 

The  ordinary  observer  regards  as  of  great  moment  the 
relation  of  an  animal  to  its  surroundings  and  mode  of 
progress — whether  in  land,  in  water,  or  through  air. 

The  zoologist  has  learned  that  the  adaptations  for  different 
modes  of  life  may  coexist  with  slight  differences  in  the  in- 
ternal economy. 


vii:\\s   i»i      NAii  i;k   itiNi  |{a.>%ti.;ij.  21 

I*()|)uljir  (»|iiiii(»n  iin-lincs  t(»  llic  Ixlict'  that  physiolotry  is 
tlu'  bet^t  ^uidc  to  the  classiiicat  ioii  ot   aiiiiiial> 

Science  iirDclaiin-  that  |>liysii>l();xy  i^  '''(•  iii(»>l  delusive 
Uiient  for  the  (lisro\rry  >>{'  tlic  true  i-clati')iiv  of  (.I'^aniztMl 
beings. 

Ill  popular  loiiic,  a^aiii,  ilcilihl  ion  isilic  |)i-iiiic  clciiu'iil 
involved,  it  is  assumed  (hat  eei'taiu  thiuiis  arc,  aud  tVoni 
this  assuuij)tion  tlie  reasoner  proceeds  to  aj)proxiniate 
successively  and  without  sufficient  i-eason.  the  forms  thai 
ixvc  ])rescnted  for  examination, 

111  science,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  iiuluetion  wliich  is 
principally  employed  in  mental  processes;  for  example,  we 
take  a  series  of  forms,  compare  tliem  toj^ether,  contrast  all 
the  elements  of  the  several  parts,  and  are  jj^uided  by  the 
detailed  cumulative  evidence  of  the  marshalled  facts. 

The  people  use  a  noiiieiiclature  based  on  adaptations  of 
parts  for  similar  |»urposes,  as  the  feet  for  walkino;,  th(>  win^rs 
for  llit;ht.  the  tins  for  swimming. 

Science,  while  availiiiii  itself  of  the  ])opular  nomenclature 
to  express  one  class  of  relatioiishii) — analogies — is  compelled 
to  resort  to  one  of  its  own  coin  in."  to  express  another  set  of 
ri'lationships — homologies. 

Now  both  of  the  words  I  have  just  used  are  constantly 
employed  in  scientific  works,  and  all  of  you  who  have  read 
such  to  any  extent  must  have  often  come  across  them.  But 
I  trust  to  be  i)ardoned  if  I  explain  their  meaning,  for  it  is 
impos.sible  to  begin  to  understand  the  problems  of  biology 
unle.<s  their  -ignitication  is  clearly  apprehenderl. 

Analogy  is  the  adaptation  of  jiarts  to  similar  functions  but 
tlujse  parts  may  have  no  relation  to  each  other  nor  be  devel- 
oped f.iom  the  .same  ]»artsof  the  body.  The  gills  of  the  fish 
are  analogous  to  the  lungs  of  the  whale,  inasmuch  a-  both 
are  subservient  to  the  otlice  of  resi»iratioii ;  but  they  are 
not  homologous.  The  tail  lin  of  the  lish  and  the  tail  fin 
of  the  whale  are  also  analogous,  but  they  are  not  homolo- 
gous. 

Homology  is  similarity  or  rc|)ctition  of  structure,  indcjien- 
dent  of  the  uses  of  the  parts.     The  ventral  tins  of  the  lish. 


22  SATUJIDAY    LKCTUIJKS. 

the  posterior  limbs  of  ordinary  quadrupeds,  the  legs  of  the 
human  subject,  the  hind  flippers  of  seals,  and  the  caudal  or 
tail  fin  of  the  whale  are  homologous.  Several  of  the  bones 
of  the  suspensorium  of  the  lower  jaw  of  the  fishes  and  the 
ear  bones  of  man  are  also  homologous,  although,  be  it  re- 
membered, they  have  no  functions  corresponding,  being  in 
that  respect  entirely  dissimilar.  Yet,  again,  homology  is 
seen  in  the  air-bladder  of  the  fish  and  lungs  of  mammals ; 
and,  further,  in  the  gills  and  branchiostegal  bones  of  fish 
and  the  hyoid  apparatus  of  man  and  other  mammals.  In 
all  cases  their  functions  are  very  dissimilar. 

But  do  not  infer  that  there  is  any  necessary  contrast  be- 
tween analogy  and  homology.  Of  course  those  parts  which 
are  formed  of  the  same  elements,  and  have  the  same  func- 
tions, are  both  homologous  and  analogous. 

It  is  by  a  strict  attention  to  the  principles  thus  expressed 
that  natural  history  has  attained  its  present  high  state,  and 
we  may,  therefore  be  pardoned  for  believing  that  the  tree  of 
biological  knowledge  which  has  grown  to  its  present  height, 
and  which  is  attaining  maturity  by  attention  to  such  meas- 
ures is  justified  by  its  fruits. 

But  as  the  hour  which  we  agreed  to  devote  to  our  sub- 
ject has  been  considerably  exceeded,  I  shall  not  detain  you 
longer,  but,  with  thanks  for  your  attention,  retire  from  the 
platform. 


i 


WHAT  IS  ANTllRurOLor.Y? 


Lecture  dclivcreil  in  the  National  Museum,  Washington,  I).  C,  March  i8,  1882. 
I)V  Prof.  Otis  T.  Mason. 


I.AhiKs  .vNi)  Ukntlkmkn  : 

Tlie  course  of  lectuR'.s  now  piomv.s^in^  in  tliis  hall  \\ni< 
for  its  design  the  bringing  about  of  a  l^etter  understanding 
between  scientific  .<j)ecialists  and  intelligent  readers  and 
thinkers.  With  this  oiiject  clearly  before  ine  I  shall  en- 
deavor, as  well  as  my  limited  time  will  allow,  to  give  such 
an  explanation  of  Anthropology  that  my  hearers  will  com- 
prehend the  extent  and  boundaries  of  its  territory  and  the 
various  operations  which  constitute  its  daily  life. 

The  word  anthropology,  from  antkropos,  man;  and  logon, 
science,  has  run  through  a  great  variety  of  meanings,  as 
those  who  have  pursued  it  have  shifted  their  ground  or 
extended  their  researches.  From  1501  to  1700  the  word 
was  used  to  signify  "the  study  of  the  laws  whicli  govern 
the  union  between  the  body  and  the  mind."  In  .some  theo- 
logical seminaries  it  signifies  "  that  manner  of  expres.-jiun 
by  wliich  the  inspired  writers  attribute  human  parts  and 
passions  to  the  Divine  Being."  In  Dr.  Hodge's  "Theol()u:y." 
all  that  relates  toman  is  called  Anthropology.  In  177"J. 
Diderot  and  D'Alembert  defined  it  as  ''  a  treati.^e  upon  man."' 
In  17S8,  Kant  wrote  a  work  entitled  ''  .Vn  iCssay  U[)on  .\n- 
thropology."  Latham  in  his  "Natural  X'arieties  of  Man." 
(Loud.  1830,  p.  ooO,)  .says,  "Anthropology  determines  the 
relations  of  man  to  the  other  mammalia;  ethnology,  the 
relations  of  the  different  varieties  of  man  to  cacli  other." 
In  the  .'schools  of  Germany  up  to  a  very  few  years,  the  term 
covered  only  what  is  included  in  the  third  sub-division  of 
the  subject  given  on  page  5  of  this  lecture.  Not  .*!0  now. 
Paul  Broca  tells  us  "Anthropology  has  for  its  object  the 
study  of  humanity  in  its  entirety,  in  its  details,  and  in  its 
relation  with  the  rest  of  nature.  " 

Anthropology,  therefore,  while  it  excludes  murh  that  is 
human,  includes  whole  territories  of  knowledge  that  are  not 


2«; 


26  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

directly  liumun.  Biography,  as  such,  is  not  anthropology, 
unless  it  connotes  generic  data.  History,  the  biography  of 
political  societies,  is  only  anthropological  so  far  as  it  is  not 
merely  biographical. 

Physicians  were  the  first  and  are  now  the  best  anthro- 
pologists, yet  not  all  in  medicine  belongs  to  the  science. 
The  same  is  true  of  every  other  profession  and  craft  of  men 
and  women  under  the  sun,  each  has  in  it  a  great  deal  that 
is  not,  but  more  that  is  anthropological. 

Anthropology  is  the  natural  history  of  man  in  its  widest 
sense.  It  embraces  all  that  we  mean  by  such  terms  as 
humanity,  mankind,  the  human  species,  human  nature. 
Nay,  more.  As  we  cannot  study  any  species  as  a  detached 
group,  so  we  must  include  in  our  science  all  those  natural 
objects,  relations,  forces,  and  facts,  that  have  furnished  the 
material,  the  impulse,  or  the  limitation  to  human  progress. 

What  human  events  and  products  are  anthropological  ? 
I  answer,  those  that  are  human,  generic,  tribal,  capable  of 
scrutiny  over  large  areas,  by  statistics  or  by  instruments  of 
precision ;  whatever  is  customary,  whatever  can  be  shown 
to  be  a  child  of  the  past  or  a  parent  of  the  future.  Elimi- 
nating those  local  eddies  of  thought  and  action  which  begin 
and  end  with  the  individual,  and  which  constitute  his  bio- 
graphy, it  takes  notice  only  of  those  great  currents  of  human 
phenomena  that  echo  round  the  world.  It  therefore  both 
includes  and  excludes, — includes,  and  day  by  day  increas- 
ingly— all  phenomena,  material  and  psychical,  related  to  the 
development  of  our  race;  excludes  even  human  activities 
that  are  onl}^  the  dust  upon  the  mosaic  of  civilization. 

By  what  methods  does  the  anthropologist  prosecute  his 
work?  I  answer,  by  the  most  vigorous  and  exacting 
methods.  By  careful  observation  of  multitudes  of  facts, 
by  judicious  discrimination  of  those  marks  which  have 
true  scientific  value,  by  careful  induction  or  classification, 
by  cautious  and  modest  deductions  he  plods  his  weary  way. 

Who  may  be  an  anthropologist?  Every  man,  woman, 
and  child  that  has  sense  and  patience  to  observe,  and  that 
can   honestly    record    the   thing   observed.      There  is  not 


WllAl'    IS    ANTIIKOl'OLOGY?  27 

another  scioncf  that  has  not  hccn  maid  of  honor  to  this 
queen  of  sciences.  If  the  rank  of  any  branch  of  knowl- 
edi^e  is  to  be  judged  by  the  intrinsic  value  of  its  object- 
matter,  and  by  the  number  of  other  sciences  ancillary  to 
it,  then  anthropology  must  be  advanced  to  the  head  of  the 
line, — having  no  less  a  function  than  to  exj)lor(^  the  secrets 
oJLinun's  origin,  progre;:js,  and  destiny. 

Having  said  thus  mucli  upon  the  scope  and  intension  of 
anthropology,  it  becomes  us  to  examine  its  sub-divisions, 
which  represent  especially  the  various  classes  of  men  en- 
<3ngaged  in  its  pursuit. 

TIIK  DINISIONS  OF  ANTHROPOLOriV. 

T.  The  origin  of  ujan,  iucjuiries  into  the  time  and  the 
location  of  that  event,  as  well  as  the  natural  pro- 
cesses involved,  and  his  pristine  condition.  An- 
riiKopoGENY,  {AntJiropos,  man,  and  genea,  descent.) 

II.  'i'he  early  history  of  the  race.    ARCHiEOLOGY,  {Archaios, 

ancient,  and  logoi<,  science.) 

III.  The  human  species  as  a  member  of  the  animal  king- 

dom.   Antpiropo-Biology,  (Bios,  life,  the  life  history 
of  mankind.) 

IV.  The   races  of   men,  descriptive=KTHNOGKAPHY ;   de- 

ductive=ETHNOLOGY,  {Ethnos,  people,  and  grapho,  to 
describe,  or  logos,  science.) 

V.  Mind  in  the  lower  animals  and  in  man.     Psychology, 

(Psuclic,  the  soul,  and  logos,  science.) 

^'  1 .     The  origin,  growth,  and  diversity  of  language.     ( ri.oss- 
ology,  [Glussa,  a  tongue,  and  logos,  science.) 

\'ll      The  elaboration  of  liunian  art  and  industries.    Tech- 
nology, {Tcchiu\  art,  ;ind  logos,  science.) 

VIII.     Social  structures  and  functions.    Sociology.  {Socius, 
an  associate,  and  logos,  science.) 


28  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

IX.  Beliefs  and  practices  with  reference  to  the  spirit  world. 

Comparative  Mythology. 

X.  The  relations  of  the  physical  universe  and  social  en- 

vironment to  human  history.      Hexiology,  {Hexis^ 
habit,  and  logos,  science.) 

By  your  permission  1  will  now  take  up  briefly  these 
divisions  and  state,  not  what  my  own  opinion  may  be,  but 
the  struggles  and  the  difficulty  which  engage  the  students 
of  anthropology  the  world  over. 

1. — Aiitlirojmgeny. 

The  great  battle  which  has  been  fought  with  reference  to 
the  origin  and  the  antiquity  of  the  universe,  is  now  being 
repeated  with  reference  to  the  origin  of  man.  As  in  astro- 
nomical observations  each  observer  has  his  personal  equa- 
tion, which  must  ever  be  kept  in  view  by  those  who  would 
utilize  his  material,  so  into  this  discussion  have  men  brought 
their  theistic  conceptions.  We  have,  therefore,  many  theo- 
ries of  man's  origination,  a  few  of  which  I  will  give  you. 

I.  Special  creation  by  Almighty  fiat. 

II.  Atheistic  agnosticism,  (a  not,  and  gnosis,  knowledge,) 

denies  the  Creator,  and  aiSirms  ignorance  of  man's 
origin. 

III.  Theistic  agnosticism.     Affirms  the  Creator,  but  denies 

knowledge  of  the  method  of  human  origin. 

IV.  Pantheism,  {pan  all,  and  theos  god).     God  is  all  and 

all  is  God. 

V.  Atheistic  Darwinism.     Denies  the  Deity  and  affirms 

natural  selection  as  the  cause  of  nature. 

VI.  Theistic  Darwinism,  (God  not  immanent.)     Affirms 

the  Deity,  but  denies  his  constant  presence. 

VII.  Theistic  Darwinism,  (God  immanent.)     x4ffirms  the 
Deity,  and  also  his  presence  ever  in  his  works. 


u  n A  I    IS    \N  rmjni'oi.<><;Y  ?  29 

\' 1 1 1     A u^nostir  Darwinism.      Allirms  uiitunil   selection  aiid 
ignorance  dI"  a  Creator. 

riierc  are  live  distini't  t[uostions  re;^ar<ling  ttie  origin  of 
man  whidi  nearly  everybody  eonfonnds.  They  are  a.s  fol- 
lows : 

1  l\\  which  of  the  processes  indicated  above  did  the  hu- 
man species  have  its  origin?  Were  they  created,  or  did 
they  descend  from  some  ape-like  ancestry. 

II.  When  did  that  event  take  place?  W  a-  it  six  thou- 
sand years  ago?  Was  it  just  on  the  hither  verge  of  the  latest 
geological  epoch?  Was  it  at  the  end  of  the  glacial  epoch, 
in  its  middle,  or  just  before  its  beginning,  or  was  it  further 
back,  at  the  beginning  of  the  Tertiary  that  the  first  being 
worthy  to  be  called  a  man  appeared  on  earth?  It  would 
take  far  more  than  my  liour  to  discuss  this  cpiestion  of  the 
antiquity  of  man  alone,  and,  furthermore,  I  am  not  invited  to 
discu.ss.  but  to  define. 

III.  The  third  inquiry  is,  where  did  the  tir.st  man  alight 
upon  this  planet? 

According  to  Moses  and  Haeckel,  followed  by  nearly  all 
modern  anthropologists,  our  first  parents  lived  somewhere 
near  the  Persian  Gulf.  But  there  is  hardly  a  spot  of  the 
habitable  globe  that  has  not  been  looked  upon  as  the  favored 
iiirthplace  of  man.  As  no  (juestion  in  science  is  closed  as  yet, 
if  anyone  of  my  hearers  is  disposed  to  have  his  pet  theory 
regarding  this  matter  he  will  not  be  excommunicated  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned. 

IV.  Bordering  closely  upon  the  last  (piery,  and  allecting 
it.  is  the  j»rol)lem  of  the  unity  of  the  species.  We  are  all 
aware  that  our  distinguished  countryman,  Dr.  Morton,  fol- 
lowed by  Aga-ssiz  and  many  others,  held  that  our  specias 
had  its  origin,  not  in  one,  but  in  .several  creations.  The 
weight  of  authority  at  the  present  time  is  in  favor  of  a 
single  origin.  Professor  Henry  wrote,  in  ISOli. ''  The  s|)ont«- 
neous  generation  of  either  plants  or  animals,  although  a 


30  SATUIIDAY     LKCTUliES. 

legitimate  subject  of  human  inquiry,  is  as  yet  an  unverified 
hypothesis.  If,  however,  we  assume  that  a  living  being  will 
be  spontaneously  produced  when  all  the  phj^sical  conditions 
necessary  to  its  existence  are  present,  we  must  allow  that  in 
the  case  of  man,  with  his  complex  and  refined  organization, 
the  fortuitous  assembly  of  the  multiform  conditions  required 
for  his  appearance  would  be  extremely  rare,  and  from  the 
doctrine  of  probabilities  could  scarcely  occur  more  than  at 
one  time  and  at  one  place  on  this  planet." 

V.  The  last  question  concerning  the  origin  of  man  is  well 
represented  in  the  controversy  of  Sir  John  Lubbock  with 
Archbishop  Whately.  The  former  maintained  that  man 
was  at  first  a  low  savage,  and  that  the  course  of  history  has 
on  the  whole  been  a  progress  towards  civilization.  Accord- 
ing to  the  latter,  man  has  always  been  pretty  much  what  he 
is  at  present. 

II. — Archseology. 

Bordering  close  upon  anthropogeny  is  archaeology,  whose 
province  it  is  to  discuss  the  first  efforts  of  the  last  child  of 
nature  to  walk  forth  into  the  broad  world.  The  data  are 
far  from  c-omplete,  but  are  becoming  more  adequate  to  show 
the  advance  from  rude  stone  to  polished  stone,  to  bronze, 
and  finally  to  iron,  as  the  material  of  human  implements. 

In  this  study  the  geologist,  the  linguist,  the  anatomist, 
technologist,  and  the  sociologist  meet  to  reconstruct  priscan 
society.  As  the  present  epoch  epitomizes  all  preceding- 
epochs  of  the  world  in  its  fauna ;  so  does  the  ensemble  of 
humanity  to-day  comprehend  all  past  histories.  It  is  no 
more  difficult  to  reconstruct  an  ancient  tribe  from  a  few 
human  bones  and  implements  than  for  the  comparative 
anatomist  to  re-edify  an  extinct  animal  from  a  few  of  its 
fossil  remains.  I  could  give  you  no  more  convincing  proof 
of  what  I  say  than  to  invite  you  to  study  carefully  Professor 
Rau's  archaeological  collection,  in  the  Smithsonian  Building. 


WIIAI     IS    ANTIIU()P(M.(inY  ?  'M 

III. — A  nth ropo-  Biology. 

So  far  as  man  resembles  the  livin<;  beings  around  him,  re- 
yiro(hices  his  kind,  arrows  from  intancv  to  maturity,  is  amen- 
•,\\\\v  to  the  hiws  of  material  nature,  dies  an<l  returns  to 
inorjxanic  matter,  he  is  an  animal.  Aj^ain,  a  minute  com- 
paris<»n  of  his  body  witli  that  of  animals  shows  a  strikinn^ 
resemblance,  if  not  genetic  relationship.  But  my  flittino: 
hour  would  warn  me  from  this  tempting  field  even  if  T  did 
not  know  that  Dr.  Fleteher's  lecture  would  be  devoted  en- 
tirely to  tbi<  ilivision  of  anthropology. 

W . — Ethnology. 

Thus  far  we  have  spoken  of  all  mankind.  We  come  now 
to  inquire  what  notice  anthropology  takes  of  the  varieties 
of  men.  .\t  first  thought  you  would  say  that  it  is  the 
easiest  matter  in  the  world  to  <listinguish  a  white  man,  a 
negro,  an  Indian,  a  Chinaman,  and  a  brown  Malay.  As  we 
were  told  in  Dr.  Gill's  lecture,  poi)ular  notions  are  altogether 
at  fault.  If  we  could  stand  all  the  men  of  the  world  in  a 
row,  it  would  be  pos.sible  to  an-ange  them  in  such  a  manner 
that  you  could  not  tell  where  one  race  left  off",  and  another 
began,  and  yet  .students  of  art  have  always  recognized  race 
idiaracters.  Two  thousand  years  before  Christ,  the  Egyptian 
sculptors  faithfully  portrayed  the  Negro,  the  S^ernite.  aiid 
the  Egyptian  countenance. 

The  same  theories  that  have  been  relied  on  to  explain 
the  origin  of  man,  have  been  invoked  to  explain  the  diverse 
races.  By  various  gateways  stnidents  have  .sought  to  enter 
the  mystery, — by  the  color  of  the  skin,  the  section  and 
appearance  of  the  hair,  the  facial  angle,  the  ratio  of  the 
length  to  the  width  of  the  skull,  the  projection  of  the  jaws, 
language,  customs,  beliefs,  etc.  Now  1  am  sure  that  all 
present  are  too  scientific  to  suppose  for  a  moment  that  men» 
classifying  is  science.  If  I  were  to  separate  you  l>y  your 
dress,  or  facial  beauty,  or  residence  in  the  city,  such  arrange- 
ment would  have  no  valuta  whatever.  .\  true;  scientific 
classification  is  based,  first,  on  imnnitable  attributes,  and, 


32 


SATURDAY    LECTURES. 


second,  seeks  to  ascei-tain  relations,  affinities,  and  consan- 
guinity. LinnoBus  (1741-1783)  made  four  divisions  of  man, 
Blumenbacli  (1752-1840)  established  the  five  classes  which 
are  kept  up  in  our  geographies  to  this  day.  I  should  only 
weary  you  repeating  catalogues  of  authors  and  their  schemes 
of  mankind.  I  give  you  a  table  by  the  latest  authority' 
Dr.  Topinard,  based  on  the  hair,  the  skull,  and  the  com- 
plexion, (Paul  Topinard,  Revue  d'Anthropologie,  1878,  p. 
509.)  It  is  very  far  from  satisfactory,  however,  and  the 
classification  of  mankind  is  still  an  open  question. 


■  Dolichocephalic,* 
(long-heads.) 

Kskimo. 

"  Red. 

Red-Skins. 

Hair  round  in 
straight. 

sfction. 

Brachycephalic, 
(short-heads.) 

Olive. 
Yellow. 

Blonde. 

Mexicans  and  Peruvians 

Guaranis,  Caribs. 
■    Samoycedes. 

Mongols,  Malays. 

Cimmerians. 
•    Scandinavians. 
,  Anglo-Saxons. 

Hair  roundish 
tion ;  waved, 

in  sec- 
frizzed. 

Dolichocephalic, 
(long-heads.) 

Brown. 
Black. 

j'  Mediterraneans. 
1^  Semites, 
j'  Australians. 
(  Indo-Abyssinians. 

» 

Red. 

C  Foulbes. 

(  Red  Barabras. 

Brachycephalic, 
(short-lieads.) 

Blonde. 
Chestnut 

■  Fins. 

■    Celts,  Slavs. 
Iranians. 

Brown 

Yellowish 

Bushmen. 

Hair  elliptical 
tion,  woolly. 

in  sec- 

Dolichocephalic, 
(long-head?.) 

Black. 

j   Papuans. 
(  Caffre,<. 

Brachycephalic, 
(short-heads.) 

Black. 

Negrito.s. 

*  Dolichocephalic  :::=  dolicJwf,  long,  and  kcphalc,  head ;  brachycephalic  = 
bracfuis,  sh6rt,  and  kephale,  head.  The  angle  of  the  jaw  gives  rise  to  orthogna- 
thous  =  £7r//zoj,  erect,  and  gnathos,  jaw;  and  prognathous  =/;'o,  forward,  and 
gnathos,  jaw.  See  Topinard'.s  "  L'Anthropologie."  Paris,  1876,  pp.  254,  261, 
299. 


W  II  A  I'     IS     .i.N'illi;n|'(»|,()(iV  ■/  '-V-'t 

I  may  say.  Imwivt  r.  thai  lUissia.  Austria,  ( iciiiiaiiy. 
I'raiuv,  Enj^laud.  and  t lie  United  States  have  eacli  orgaii- 
izcil  special  bureaus  lor  tlir  iniuutc  cxaiiiinatioii  of  the 
))eoples  within  tlieir  limits. 

\'.  —  J^si/rliiilof/i/. 

What  has  anthmpology  to  do  with  metaphysics?  Just 
two  things.  The  science  of  metaphysics  itself  has  had  a  his- 
tory. Mm  did  not  always  hxdc  upon  the  intellectual  facul- 
ties as  they  do  now.  The  evolution  of  psychological  studies 
is  certainly  as  interesting  as  the  life  history  of  any  living 
thinir.  l>ut.  auain,  mind  is  horn  and  <j;rows :  there  are  race 
psychologies  as  well  as  race  anatomies:  and  the  whole 
Inuiian  intellect  has  had  its  progress  by  stages.  Every 
mother  before  nu-,  had  she  leisure  from  her  burdeneil  life, 
could  write  a  mo.st  wonderful  chapter  in  anthro[>ol(>gy,  by 
recording  minutely,  day  by  day,  how  a  little  child  eniei-ged 
from  the  chaos  of  ignorance  and  })rogrcssed  in  the  unfold- 
ing of  its  mind  by  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  I  shall 
have  spoken  in  vain  if  I  have  not  clearly  shown  that  the 
average  history  of  the  individual  is  the  history  of  the  Kdce, 
and  that  tliis  great  giant  of  humanity  took  on  ideas  just  as 
does  the  little  child. 

Again,  i>rutes  have  minds.  Anthropology  is  making  the 
most  exhaustive  investigations  into  the  (juestion  whether 
they  differ  from  us  in  (piality  of  mind  or  only  in  degree; 
whether  the  instincts  of  the  brute  are  the  i)arents  of  human 
thoughts.  In  this  ])ortion  of  the  subject  is  involved  the 
vexed  inquiry  whether  the  brain  generates  thought  as  the 
liver  does  l)ile  ;  or  whether  there  is  a  spirit  in  man  which 
constitutes  his  true  individuality,  for  which  hi<  bodv  i<  oidy 
a  temporary  abiding  place. 

\'  I . —  (tli)ssolo(j!/. 

Thf  dejtartment  of  anthropology  which  investigates  lan- 
guage is  variously  termed,  linguistics,  philology,  glossology, 
and  the  science  of  laniruag*  .      It  has  for  its  object  to  inquire 
3 


34  SATURDAY    LECTURES 

into  the  origiu  of  language,  and  many  hard-fought  battles 
attest  the  energy  with  which  the  various  champions  have 
entered  into  the  subject.  Languages  have  changed  and 
differentiated.  How,  and  through  what  causes  ?  They 
mix,  and  new  languages  arise.  They  have  their  anatomy 
and  physiology.  They  have  their  purely  physical  side, 
being  composed  of  muscular  gestures  and  vocal  utterances, 
purely  physiological.  They  have  their  psychological  side, 
"  Sound  is  but  the  curtain  behind  which  is  concealed  the 
mystery  of  thought."  As  before  stated,  the  whole  his- 
tory of  man  is  the  unfolding  of  mind,  and  language 
thus  becomes  a  historical  science.  The  anthropologist  does 
not  stop  with  vocal  speech.  For  him  bodily  attitudes, 
animal  voices,  the  gestures  of  the  dumb,  and  of  lower  races 
are  language.  We  have  in  this  very  building  a  Bureau  of 
Ethnology,  where,  under  the  direction  of  Major  Powell,  such 
specialists  as  Mailer}^  Dorsey,  Gatschet,  Hinman,  and  Riggs 
are  wrestling  with  the  American  Indian  languages.  The 
same  zeal  characterizes  the  cultivated  nations  of  Europe. 
The  vocal  and  written  speech  of  man  is  found  to  have  kept 
pace  with  the  progress  of  his  thoughts. 

The  growth  of  language  is  spoken  of  as  having  passed 
through  three  stages,  or  as  occurring  in  three  fundamental 
types  :— 

1.  The  Holophrastic,  {holos,  whole,  phrasis,  phrase,)  in 
which  whole  phrases  or  sentences  were  thrown  into  a  single 
utterance;  or  polysynthetic  {pohis,  much,  and  synthesis, 
compounding.) 

2.  Agglutinative,  {agglutino,  to  fasten  or  glue  to,)  in  which 
the  words  are  much  compounded,  but  only  one  of  the  word- 
elements  retains  the  ancient  forms,  the  others  being  pared 
down  to  mere  appendages. 

3.  The  Inflected,  in  which  relations  are  indicated  by 
endings,  which  no  longer  have  any  meaning,  but  serve 
merely  to  indicate  the  function  of  their  stem.  The  whole 
subject  is  thoroughly  and  freshly  worked  up  in  Major 
Powell's  "  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Indian  Languages," 
which  I  would  advise  you  all  to  read. 


wiiAi    IS  AN  rnu«>r<>i.t)(i^- ■/  3;") 

The  rcconliu.u  of  spci'di.  also,  ha^  had  its  i>ocuHar  and 
iutoresting  course  of  life.  IJcginninji  with  more  tally  sticks, 
hunting  and  ganihling  scores,  and  such  mneniotcchnic  de- 
vices, the  student  may  carefully  thread  his  way  through 
rock-carving  and  jticture  writings  to  hieroglyphics.  The 
abbreviation  of  hieroglyphic  symbols  to  words  and  syllables, 
and  even  to  sound  symbols  took  j)lace  very  slowly,  but  the 
process  may  be  traced  in  the  older  and  later  Egyi)tian  and 
Chaldean  writings.  The  art  of  jirinting  is  the  last  .stage  in 
the  journey  of  grajdnc  repre.-;entation.  The  .•^tudy  of  Indian 
jjictographs,  as  well  as  the  .sculptures  of  Mexico  and  Central 
America,  promises  to  furnish  some  very  impoitant  chapters 
in  the  history  of  linguistics. 

\\\. —  Technology. 

The  portion  of  my  subject  in  which  most  of  my  hearers 
are  interested,  however,  is  the  evolution  or  the  elaboration 
of  industries,  or  comi)arative  technology.  As  archaeology 
reveals  the  progress  of  invention  in  time,  so  technology  re- 
veals the  diffusion  of  the  grades  of  culture  over  the  earth. 
The  two  are  twin  sisters  of  the  operative  or  material  side  of 
anthropology.  You  cannot  imagine  the  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion which  stole  over  the  face  of  a  Patent  Office  friend 
when  convinced  that  .<ome  of  the  most  important  materials 
of  anthropology  passed  through  his  hands  every  day.  He 
exclaimed,  '"  I  an  anthropologist !  I  thought  I  was  only  an 
examiner.  I  am  going  to  write  a  paper  on  anthropology." 
There  is  not  a  phase  of  civilization  that  has  not  had  its 
tools,  its  edifices,  its  paraphernalia.  There  is  not  a  tool,  or 
building,  or  garment,  that  has  not  pas.sed  through  a  series 
of  transformations  most  interesting  to  trace.  These  objects 
may  l)e  looked  upon  as  species  in  natural  history.  They 
cross  an«l  interlace  so  as  to  form  the  gorgeous  taj)estry  of 
human  culture. 

To  my  lady  iViends  1  would  say  this  .subject  is  of  thrill- 
ing interest.  There  is  not  a  thing  that  you  wear,  or  eat, 
or  enjoy,  that  has  n&t  come  down  to  you  through  a  wonder- 
ful experience.     Tlie  worship  <>\'  the  beautiful  did  not  origi- 


36 


SATTTRDAY    I.ECTUKES. 


nate  with  Oxford  students  in  the  XlXth  century.  "  Woman 
was  the  first  potter  and  embroiderer.  She  is  everywhere 
the  primitive  decorative  artist,  and  it  is  the  exception  that 
man  occupies  himself  with  ornamental  art,  even  in  civilized 
countries.  Woman  covers  with  ornament  everything  her 
hand  touches,  and  the  lady  in  her  boudoir  industriously 
embroiders  on  some  article  of  mere  luxury,  the  same  series 
of  frets  and  scroll  borders  which,  on  the  Amazonas,  the  sav- 
age, unclothed  squaw  as  diligently,  and  with  as  firm  a  hand, 
traces  with  a  spine  on  the  damp  surface  of  the  clay  she  is 
fashioning."  It  is  as  if  they  sang  the  same  simple  song,  like 
a  silver  thread  binding  all  lovers  of  the  beautiful  into  a 
common  sisterhood.  Could  we  find  the  missing  links,  the 
arts  of  Egypt,  Assyria,  Greece,  and  Rome  would  not  stand 
out  like  green  islands  of  the  sea,  but  would  form  the  neces- 
ar}^  parts  of  one  homogeneous  structure. 

The  idea  has  seized  the  fruitful  mind  of  Professor  Goode, 
Assistant  Director  of  this  grand  Museum,  and  you  will  read 
in  Professor  Baird's  Circular  No.  2,  as  follows  : 

In  the  new  building  will  be  concentrated  all  the  industrial  collections,  and  all 
the  ethnological  specimens,  except  the  reserve  series  of  pre-historic  stone  imple- 
ments. In  the  old  building  will  be  kept  those  collections  which  are  most  im- 
portant as  material  for  purely  scientific  investigation,  such  as  the  main  collection 
of  birds,  the  fishes  and  reptiles  in  alcohol,  the  marine  invertebrates,  etc.  The 
new  building  will,  however,  contain  the  collections  in  economic  natural  history. 

The  collections  in  the  new  building  are  intended  to  form  an  Anthropological 
Museutn,  organized  upon  the  broadest  and  most  liberal  interpretation  of  the  term 
"  anthropology,"  and  illustrating  the  characteristics  of  civilized  as  well  as  savage 
races  of  mankind  and  their  attainments  in  civilization  and  culture.  The  central 
idea  will  be  man,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  adapts  the  products  of  the  earth 
to  his  needs.  All  useful  and  noxious  animals,  plants,  and  minerals  will  be  shown, 
industries  by  means  of  which  they  are  utilized — by  both  method  and  finished 
product — and  finally,  the  various  objects  which  men  use  for  any  purpose,  what- 
ever.    A  place  is  provided  for  every  object  loJiich  has  a  name* 

"At  this  point  several  series  of  objects  were  exhibited  to  the  audience  to  illus- 
trate the  two  \Aea.<i,  progress  and  adaptation.  Among  them  was  the  growth  of 
the  ship  from  the  dugout  through  the  skin  boat  (variety  :  birch-bark  canoe)  to  the 
steamer  Fish  Hawk ;  the  evolution  of  the  knife,  the  hammer,  the  bottle,  the 
saddle,  food,  and  ceramics. 


W  II A  I     l<    WTlIKoPoI.or.Y*'  37 

\'f  II. — Sociolof/!/. 

Tile  next  <livi>i(tii  of  <iui-  subject  is  scx-iology.  Tin-  iiis- 
torv  of  civili/.atioii  is  nally  the  history  of  society.  Littl(^ 
do  we  think  in  our  Christian  honn-s.  where  one  man  and 
one  woman  through  mutual  love  devote  themselves  to  their 
oft'spriuLi  :  in  our  wtll-ordertd  <itirs  where  Hfeand  jiroperty 
are  protected  and  every  eonvenienee  of  puhHe  life  furnished 
to  rieh  and  poor  alike  :  in  our  ;;rand  nationalities  and  world- 
cmbracin<2;  exehanges.  how  humhle  an<l  rude  were  the  begin- 
nings. We  must  go  back  to  a  gregarious  state,  where 
brotljers  and  sisters  intermarried,  where  the  bond  of  union 
was  fragile,  where  eliihheii  belonged  to  the  group,  and  tlu;ro 
was  no  magistracy  or  |)ublie  spirit.  We  thence  pass  upward 
to  the  Australians,  in  whose  .social  sy.stem  there  is  a  ([uad- 
rupK'  classitication  (jf  male  and  female  for  marriag*'  and 
other  purposes.  The  North  American  Indians  furnish  the 
ni'xt  grade,  with  their  curious  elan  organization,  and  descent 
in  the  female  line.*  Passing  onward  through  Semitic  poly- 
gamv,  we  are  brought  to  our  own  jdatform  of  social  life  in 
all  its  eomplexity.  There  are  vast  territories  of  knowledge, 
including  ceremonial  institutions,  ethical  codes,  morality, 
and  legislation,  whicli  1  ean  only  mention  in  this  connec- 
tion, but  which  liave  engros.sed  the  greatest  |)liilo<opli"T-  of 
the  world  in  all  ages. 

I  have  prepared  a  chart  in  order  to  indicate  to  tlie  eye 
how  the  progress  and  adaj)tations  of  culture  in  the  various 
categories  may  have  taken  place.  At  the  top  are  Morg/m's 
seven  periods,  the  second  horizontal  line  gives  a  typical 
event  of  the  period,  the  third,  a  representative  race,  taken 
at  random,  the  succeeding  lines  refer  to  the  cat(>gorie<  of 
cidtun-. 

The  whole  subject  is  of  commanding  interest  to  the  legis- 
lator and  the  student  of  history,  but  as  we  are  to  hear  from 
Major  Powell  upon  thi<  topic  1  pass  t«»  the  next  division, 
the  Spirit  World. 


*  The  Rev.  Oven  Dorsey's  charts  r>(  DnkiMa  clans  were  exhihiteil  in  illustration. 


38 


.    SATUllDAY    IJ::CTU'11ES. 


CATEGORIES. 


GRADES  OP  CULTURE. 


Mouoan's  Scheme., 
<  'haractekistics..., 

Rack 

Food 


Lower  Savage , 

No  fire,  rude  stone., 
St.  Aeheul 


Raw   products   of  the 
earth. 


Clothing None,  or  a  wind  shield 


Hai;itations., 


Implements., 


We.vpoxs  . 


Caves  and  shelters. 


Palaeolithic.. 


Clubs  and  stones.. 


Locomotion No  appliances 


.ffisTHETic  Products.. 


Domestication.. 


Middle  Savage. 
Fish  diet,  fire..., 
Australians 


Painted  bodies,  strings 
of  shells,  whi.stlesand 
wooden  drums. 


None  , 


IxDUSTUiES Hunting  unci  lishing.... 


LAXGUAfiK. 


Kxo\vledge.. 


Beliefs.. 


Wor.SHip.. 


MonALS. 


Interjectional   and    by 
signs. 


The  habits  of  game,  a 
little  about  tlie  stars 
and  the  weather. 


Everything  animated.. 


Appeasing  everything. 


Conformity  to  clan  use. 
No  code. 


Indigenous  products, 
roasted  and  stone- 
boiled  food. 


Capes  of  skin  or  coarse 
mattine. 


Temporary    huts    and 
wind-breaks. 


Charred  spears,  ham- 
mers, knives,  nets, 
dug-outs,  fire-drills. 

Spears,  clubs,  boomer- 
angs, throw-sticks, 
shields. 

Trails  and  landmark.s 


Feathers  and  paint,gor- 
gets  and  limb  trap- 
pings, stick  and  skin 
drums. 


Upper  Savage 

Invention  of  the  bow. 
Nomadic  Indians 


The  doc?.. 


Social  Stuucture I  Promiscuity. 

Social  Rites '  Not  known... 


Supplying  wants,  little 
division  or  barter. 


Guttural,  clicking,  re- 
duplicative. 


Count  four,  predict 
yveather.  Judge  local- 
ity and  distance, 
name  species. 

Ghosts,  hero  ancestors, 
animal  soul  in  things. 


Sorcery,    rain-making, 
fetish  worship. 


Conjugal  and  parental 
duties  not  enforced, 
hospitable,  improvi- 
d,ent. 

Punaluan  marriage  in 
groups. 


IMarriage  by  capture, 
greetings  formal,  ta- 
bu, deposit  burial. 


Dried  menis  and  plants, 
dug-out  vessels  for 
cooking. 


Caps,  body  clothes,  moc- 
casons,  of  the  se.xes 
much  alike. 


Tents  and   wigwams   in 
elan-groups. 


Slvin-dressing,   basket- 
weaving,  bow-dressing. 


Bows  and  arrows  in  great 
variety,  scalping  knives. 


Snow-shoes,  sledges,  dug- 
outs, rafts,  and  skin- 
boats. 


Tattoo  and  paint,  embroi- 
dery and  fringes,  rat- 
tles and  bells. 


Dogs,  ponies,  deer.     In 
the  south,  bifds. 

Hunting,  fishing,  gather- 
ing, barter,  wampum. 


Agglutinative,    prone    to 
dialectic  change. 


Decimal  notation,  time, 
genera  of  object.'^,  natu- 
ral phenomena. 


Sorcery,  future  life  like 
this,  good  and  evil  pow- 
ers, myths. 


Medicine  pow-wow,  invo- 
cation by  smoke,  fast- 
ing, mutilation. 


Chastity    of    wives    en- 
forced, generous,  cruel. 


Ganowanian  marriage, 
mother-right,  cian-sy,s- 
tem. 

Marriage  rite  wealc,  Pot- 
laich  feasts,  burial  Ta- 
rious. 


WHAT    IS    ANI  lIHOlMtl.OOY 


30 


GRADES  OF  CULTURE. 


Lower  Barbarous Middlo  Hiirbarous Upper  Barbarous.. 

The  art  of  i>ottery Domcstifintlon.coreals.    Smelting,  writing.. 

Iroquois;,  Muslvolii Zufiois,  Aztecs Semitic  Races 

Food      partly      raised,    Tortillas,  pruols,  cacao,  |  Porridge,  milk,  dococ 


corn,    beans,    Ac. 
Uriiilis.  l''ood  boiled. 


Shirt,  uproii,  robe,  leg- 
^injis,  mocassons, 
head-dress. 


Long-lmuses  ami    per- 
manent villages. 


Poli.'«hcd-stone,  mor- 
tar.",  wood- working, 
pottery. 

Bow,  club,  tomahawk, 
scalping-knife.of  bet- 
ter make. 

Canoes,  litters,  carry- 
ing places. 


chile,  iiito.xicants.. 


Varied  with  rank, 
highly  ornamented, 
shoos. 


.Stone,  adobe,  lime.  Hat 
rools,  public  build- 
ings, no  arch. 

Digging-stick,  clay 
workinp  tools,  mule 
trappings. 

Obsidian  ax,  spear,  ob- 
sidian knife,  darts, 
slings,  shields. 

Canals,  roads,  cause- 
ways, bridges,  llamas, 
and,  later,  mules  and 
horses. 

Paint  and  toggery, 
carving  in  stone  and 
wood,  embroidei-y, 
drums,  shell-horns, 
Hutes. 

Deer,    rabbits,    fish, 
many  birds,  cochineal. 

Weaving,  felting,  dye- 
ing, stamping,  ceram- 
ics, stone  cutting. 


Paint  and  pendants, 
te.\tlle,  stone,  shell 
and  feathers,  ttute  of 
10  notes,  drums,  rat- 
tles. 

Same  as  last.  Noothers 
to  domesticate. 

Taking  from  nature, 
raising  crops,  making 
utcnsds,  exchange. 

More  and  softer  sounds, 
holoplirasms  longer, 
wo<xl  and  rock  carv- 
ings. 

Count  ino,  wampum  in  |  Vigesimal  oount- 
historic  narration,  I  ing,  calendar,  natural 
the  stars,  use  of  med-  ;  histor>-,  medicine, 
icine.  maps.  I 

Dreams,     wandering  I  Supersfititions,    throe- 1 

f  hosts,     (ire:it     and  I      foldavernus.elenicnt 
;vil  Spirit,  minor  de- I      worship,  seven  great  I 
ities  and  heroes.  j      gods.  I 


tiona,  leaven,  metal 
dishes,  fruit  trees 
raised. 

Of  cotton,  linen,  and 
woollen  stuffs,  varied 
with  rank  and  occa- 
sion. 

Sun-dried  bricks,8tone, 
wood,  less  communal, 
shops,  arches,  streets. 

Herding,  weaving, 
mealing, and  farming, 
rude  handicraft. 

Flint-locks,  wall  and 
moat,  sword  and 
lance. 

Bea-sts  of  burden,  floats, 
open  ships,  camel 
trails. 


.Jewelry  and  scents, 
massive  structures,  j 
music  varied,  poetry  1 
ornate. 


Camel,  cow,  horse,  dog, 
sheep,  goat,  poultry.    | 

Metallurgy,  caravan  | 
and  ship  trade,  mar-  j 
kets,  fairs. 


Forty  sounds,  polysyn-  Highly  inflectional, 
thetisms  euphonic,  writing  syllabic  or  at- 
symbolic  writing.        j      phabetic,"  literature. 


Astronomy,  geography,  i 
medicine,  history,  I 
law.  ( 


.Monotheistic  or  poly-  | 
theistic  anthropb-  i 
morphism.  I 


Religious  order  sepa- 
rate, offerings,  festi- 
vals, dances,  nature 
worship. 


Priestly  caste,  panthc-    Sacred  books,  preach- 
on,  human  sacrifices,  I      ing,   prayer,    fasting, 
oaths,     vows,      fasts,  |      alms,  chants 
penance^. 


Labor  degrading  to  i  Submissive,  unchaste 
men,  digiiiti<-d,  kinil  '  aiul  drunkards  pun- 
to  aged  and  children,  '■.  ishcd,  true,  kind,  chi- 
cruel.  valrous 


Temperate,  lewd,  po- 
lite, hospitable, 
shrewd,  brave,  trea- 
cherous. 


Civilized. 

Printing. 

Later  .Aryan. 

Everv     variety,    animal 
and  vegetable. 


DifTerentiatod     for    sex, 
rank,  and  occasion. 


Strictly  family,  exceod- 
iagly  varied,  gas,  water 
pipes. 

Stimulation  of  invention 
by  protection  and  pat- 
ent laws. 

Fire  arms  perfected,  iron 
clads,  signal  &ervice,Ac. 


Steam  carriage  added. 


Architecture,  sculpture, 
music,  painting,  Del  e- 
lettres. 


Every  branch  of  the  ani- 
mal kingdom. 


Work  in  land, 
mines,  waters, 
merce. 


forest, 
Com- 


Inflected,  writing,  print- 
ing, telegraph. 


Science,  metaphy.-ics, 
history,  technology, 
politics. 


God,  angels,  spirits,  fu- 
ture life,  retribution, 
agnosticism,  atheism. 


Public  and  private.    The 
spirit  above  the  form. 


To  love  Go<l  supremely 
and  our  neighbor  a.H 
our.-elves. 


The  same,  father-right    The  same,  father-right.    Patriarchal  family,  po- |  Monogamic  family,  futh- 
begins.  au'i  personal        prop«-rty   more   iiidi-  |      lyganiv,   property  in  i      er-nght.  Free  State 
property.  |      viduali/.ed  j      sevcnilty,  despotism.  I 


Marriage   by  presents, 
ball  g.imes,  ossuaries. 


Marriage        elaborate,  |  Uarems,  games,    bath-  i  Marriage  by  priest,  sur- 

games,  ceremonious- 1      ing,     burial     near  |  vival»  i)f  ceremony, 

ness,    attendants       shrines.                          i  burial    iu    graves    and 

killed  at  the  grave.     ! • I      tombi*. 


40  SATIIKDAY    I.KCTURKS, 

IX . —  Coniparafive  Mi/tJi ologi/. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  tiud  a  word  to  cover  exactly  the 
ground  which  the  anthropologist  includes  in  the  word  re- 
ligion. Among  Christian  people,  the  term  is  applied  to 
certain  beliefs,  forms,  and  conduct ;  and  the  adjective,  re- 
ligious, would  not  be  understood  if  applied  to  discussions 
merely  ;  but  let  it  pass. 

There  never  was  a  people  so  rude  as  not  to  observe  nature 
and  to  assign  causes  for  everything  that  passed  through  the 
avenues  of  their  senses.  Into  those  causes  life  is  projected 
and  human  or  animal  attributes  added  until  a  pliilosophy 
or  theology  is  built  up. 

Secondl}^,  in  some  form  or  other  men  early  begin  to 
believe  in  a  future  life,  to  people  an  unseen  world  with  in- 
numerable beings,  good  or  bad,  and  to  separate  these  beings 
into  classes  with  functions.     This  forms  a  creed. 

Further,  certain  actions  on  our  part  are  due  to  these  beings 
— will  please,  displease,  or  appease  them.  Men  fast,  chant, 
pray,  dance,  and  sacrifice ;  thty  deny,  Aveary,  and  mutilate 
themselves,  for  this  purpose.  They  set  apart  a  class  to  wait 
upon  the  gods,  build  costly  edifices  in  their  honor,  in  which 
the  continual  sacrifice  and  savory  incense  ever  attest  the  fear, 
or  the  devotion  of  the  worshippers.  Among  any  people 
this  constitutes  their  cult. 

By  the  testimony  of  missionaries  and  others,  who,  like  Mr. 
Gushing,  have  lived  among  a  lowly  people  long  enough  to 
win  their  confidence,  we  are  in  possession  of  the  facts  which 
will  enable  us  roughly  to  outline  the  world's  theologies, 
creeds,  and  cults.  The  anthropologist,  far  from  being 
shocked  by  the  seeming  absurdities  of  these  lower  forms  of 
religion,  beholds  in  them  the  germs  of  all  our  beliefs.  I  have 
frequently  thought,  while  reading  of  the  bloody  and  cruel 
fetish  worship  of  the  dark-skinned  African,  that  a  kind 
providence  had  effected  the  whitening  of  the  human  skin  co- 
ordinately  with  the  purifying  of  religious  conceptions.     At 


WHAT    T<     A\  I  1IK()1'«»|.(»(.Y 


41 


any  rate  ihvw  lias  hem  prouros  in  < oiiuliiicss  iitid  inii'rovc- 
ment  in  ivli^Mon. 

At  first,  cju-h  individual  tliini:  was  tli(.uudit  to  he  ensouled. 
A  little  after  there  wore  ^host-ixods,  which  ini^ht  he  iuflii- 
eneed  hy  fetishes  or  incantations.  W<»rshii.of  thing's,  places, 
animals,  and  ))lants  follow  in  (|ui(k  succession.  Another 
step  hrinjLTs  us  to  the  deification  of  the  powers  of  nature, 
under  symbols,  barbarous  or  chaste  according'  to  the  taste  ol 
a  people,  which  constitute  the  world's  idolatries. 

How  ])leasantly  we  mi*jjht  s|»end  hours  tracing;  through 
its  mazy  windings  the  conception  of  personal  causation, 
from  the  gross  forms  of  savage  philosophy  to  that  grand 
idea  which  traces  all  creative  power  and  providential  con- 
trol to  majestic  law,  "that  has  its  seat  in  the  bosom  of  God, 
and  its  voice  is  the  harmony  of  the  universe."  With  Major 
Powell.  Mr.  Gushing,  Mr.  Dorsey,  and  Mr.  Ilinman,  we 
should  sit  down  at  the  Indian's  hearthstone  and  hear  in 
their  simple  myths  echoes  of  the  cliildhood  of  the  world. 
With  Professor  Ander.son  we  shouM  visit  the  i)risean  home 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  and  recline  under  tlu-  shadow  of 
the  tree  Ygdrasil,  at  the  feast  of  Tuisco  and  Wo<len,  Thor 
'and  Fria.  Our  survey  could  not  omit  Chalda^a,  Assyria, 
Persia,  India,  China,  or  Egypt.  Much  more,  the  gods,  the 
myths,  the  sculptured  forms  and  world-surpassing  temple 
architecture  of  Greece,  and  the  i>ure  monotheism,  exalted 
poetry,  and  pathetic  history  of  Judiea  would  engro.ss  our 
serious  thoiights.  Rising  above  all,  yet  not  contemptuous 
of  any,  at  last  would  shine  refulgent  that  undeliled  Chris- 
tianity which  declares  the  fatherhood  of  (Jod  an<l  the  uni- 
versal brotherhood  of  niaii. 

X. — Ilc.riitlit;/!/. 

We  come  at  last  to  sjieak  of  that  chapti'r  in  anthropology 
which  treats  of  the  recii>rocal  actions  of  man  and  his  en- 
vironment. In  every  thing  that  comes  to  be  what  it  is. 
there  are  two  sets  of  forces  at  work,  the  internal  and  the 
external,  the  constructive  and  the  destructive,  the  impell- 


42  SATUllDAY    LFX'TURES. 

ing  and  the  restraining.  We  see  it  in  the  sea  and  the  shore, 
the  breath  of  the  glass-blower  and  the  mould  in  which  the 
bottle  is  formed,  the  vitality  and  the  favorable  or  unfavora- 
ble location  of  the  plant,  the  habitat  and  the  vigor  of  ani- 
mal species,  and  finally  in  the  races  of  men  and  their 
inorganic  and  organic  surroundings.  The  anthropologist 
has  no  more  difficult  problem  before  him  than  to  ascertain 
the  influence  of  climate,  outlook,  food,  and  social  environ- 
ment, to  produce  varieties  in  man,  to  set  in  motion  that 
great  current  called  "the  migration  of  nations,"  and  to 
bring  about  from  nothing,  all  that  constitutes  the  various 
civilizations  of  the  world.  Inasmuch  as  the  poorest  far- 
mers buy  the  least  productive  lands,  the  sterile  districts  of  a 
county  even  will  be  less  cultured  than  the  most  fertile ;  and 
living  upon  such  ground  soon  reacts  upon  the  people,  only 
to  increase  their  poverty  and  to  decrease  their  vitality. 
How  much  more,  then,  may  we  expect  to  find  the  abject 
races  of  man  living  in  the  suburbs  of  the  world,  where 
squalor  is  engendered  by  the  surroundings,  until  there  is 
a  harmony  or  ec[uilibrium  between  the  unpropitious  skies 
and  their  wretchedness.  On  the  other  hand,  the  contact, 
the  rivalries,  and  even  the  bloody  wars  of  favored  races  have 
awakened  an  emulation  productive  only  of  good. 

It  is  the  business  of  the  anthropologist  to  trace  out  these 
subtle  causes  and  influences  which  advance  or  retard  civili- 
zation, which  have  covered  the  earth  here  with  prosperity, 
there  with  melancholy  ruins.  So  far  from  being  beneath 
the  consideration  of  the  highest  and  most  gifted  intellects, 
this  and  not  petty  expedients  should  be  the  subject  of  serious 
inquiry  by  the  statesman,  the  political  economist,  and  the 
philanthropist. 

My  task  is  nearly  finished.  My  object  has  been  to  define 
a  science  in  which  there  is  no  priesthood  and  laity,  no  sacred 
language ;  but  one  in  which  you  are  all  both  the  investiga- 
tor and  the  investigated, — the  judge,  the  jury,  and  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar.  I  have  endeavored  to  portray  in  outline 
the  work  of  the  anthropologist,  so  that  you  may  intelligently 
follow  my  successors  who  will  treat  of  special  themes. 


NVIIAI     IS    ANTHROPOLOGY?  4tj 

1  shall  iioi  liavo  spoken  wholly  in  vain  if  1  have  indi- 
cated the  lines  of  all  soeial  j)rop;ress  and  led  yon  to  see, 
however  faintly,  the  value  and  indissoluhlc  union  of  the 
humhlest  human  phenomena — 

"  That  nolliin<^  walUs  with  aimless  feel ; 
That  not  one  life  will  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete. 

That  (jod  which  ever  lives  and  loves, 
One  God,  one  law,  one  clement, 
And  one  far-off,  divine  event, 
To  which  the  whole  creation  moves." 


CONTRASTS  OF  THE  APPALACHIAN  MOUNTAINS. 


Lecture  delivered  in  the  National  Museum,  Washinj^ton,  I).  C,  March  25,  1882, 
by  Prof.  J.  W.  ChickeriN(;,  Jr. 


Science  pertains  to  that  which  is  known,  not  that  which 
is  conjectured  or  guessed  at.  It  is  based  on  facts,  and  not 
on  theories.  A  hypothesis  may  oftentimes  be  useful  in 
scientific  investigation — just  as  is  the  scaffolding  in  the 
erection  of  a  building,  it  may  even,  at  length,  come  to  be 
built  in,  may  become  part  of  the  temple  of  science,  but 
then  it  has  ceased  to  be  a  mere  hypothesis,  and  has  become 
itself  a  fact. 

The  science  of  to  day,  entitled  to  the  name,  rests  upon  a 
solid  foundation  of  fact,  is  an  induction,  not  a  deduction. 

Science,  therefore,  and  especially  advancing  science,  is 
omnivorous  as  regards  facts.  It  is  a  veritable  Gradgrind. 
''Nihil  fadi  alienum  est  a  sciential 

One  fact  alone  does  not  prove  much.  It  may,  if  new, 
interest  or  surprise,  but  its  chief  value  will  be  in  its  power 
to  stimulate  to  the  collection  of  other  new  and  kindred 
facts. 

"  One  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer,"  but  when  the 
flock  has  arrived,  and  the  nests  are  in  proc3ss  of  building, 
we  know  the  summer  has  come. 

We  need,  therefore,  first  of  all,  a  multitude  of  facts,  and 
then  we  need  to  have  them  collated,  compared,  classified 
according  to  their  resemblances  and  their  contrasts.  The 
observation  of  facts  is,  for  a  time,  the  first  duty,  the  chief 
employment  of  the  scientist.  Tt  precedes  all  else,  all  theo- 
ries, all  classification,  all  order. 

To  observe,  and  as  far  as  may  be  to  collect  facts,  are  ex- 
peditions sent  out,  and  thousands  of  observers  at  Avork.  This 
Museum  is,  and  is  to  be  filled  with  concrete  facts. 

Now,  fortunately  many  men  are  born  fact-collectors,  fact- 
mongers,  with  taste  and  aptitude  for  the  pursuit  of  facts. 

(44) 


Al-I'AI    \i   IllAN     MiM    \  I   \1\-.  45 

Tlu'V  :iif  null  wlio  arc  ready  i(»  reply  In  ridieiile  ni-  (pies- 
tioninii.  as  «ii<l  tlic  astronomer  \u  flie  (|iiery.  why  lie  was 
<'X|)eii(liiii:  so  nmeli  time,  money  and  troulde,  in  entleavor- 
in«r  to  ivetity  his  eomjiutatioii  <il  the  distance  from  the  sun 
to  the  eartli. — '  licc-auso  1  want  to  know." 

Those  men  are  the  advance  uuard  of  science,  tiie  |»i(ineers, 
tile  ori,ii;inal  iiive<tii:at(>r^.  the  sa|>|)crs  and  miner-  nf  the 
scii'ntitie  army. 

All  lioiKM-  to  those  who  have  thus  wrouuht.  and  aic  now 
■\voikinii  amid  t<»rrid  heat  and  arctic  c(.)ld.  who  have  tlis- 
covered  the  s(»iirces  of  the  Nile,  or  sou;j:lit  the  o)»en  I'olar 
►Sea.  not  a  few  of  whom  ha\e  sacrili<'e<l  their  live-  to  their 
lahors. 

Ihit  these  facts  must  he  interrogated,  made  to  till  their 
story,  ami  that  the  true  one,  or  they  are  of  hut  little  worth, 
and  the  Mu.^eum  is  little  more  than  an  '"0101  Curicsity  JShoi),' 
a  museum  instead  of  a  museum. 

It  has  heen  said  that  '' tifrures  cannot  lie."  Hut  1  think 
few  would  admit  the  truth  of  that  saying,  on  the  eve  of  a 
])oj)ular  election,  as  they  read  the  opposing  papers. 

1  think  there  have  been  even  scientific  discussions,  in 
Mliicli  the  same  facts  were  made  to  tell  very  ditterent  stories. 

A  master  mind,  capable  of  classifying  and  generalizing  is 
needed  to  mar-hal  these  facts,  to  make  them  speak,  to  make 
them  tell  the  truth. 

•lust  as  in  this  Muscuni  we  are  beginning  to  see  how 
order  can  be  evolved  out  of  confusion,  and  lio|>e  eventually 
to  .see  cla.ssified  and  j>roj>erly  labeled  facts  on  these  shelves, 
telling  us  the  story  of  man.  hi-  enviroimieiit.  .md  his 
a(  hievemcMits. 

l*'or  while  to  one  ni.nn  a  fad  may  l)e  an  iiltimaie  thing. 

•  .\  priinro^i.-  on  tin;  ri\er>  l)iin) 
.\  sin»|i!c  primrose  is  to  liim." 

to  another  it  sugge.sts  j)roblems,  iiuiuiries.  investigations. 

Whatever  progre>s  has  been  made  in  science  has  been 
mainly  due  to  the  persistent  asking  of  three  (|Uestions: 
•'What?"  "How?"  "Why?"  and  to  theecpially  pei-sistent  at- 
tempt to  answer  them. 


46  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

The  man  who  takes  no  interest  in  these  questions  will 
never  make  a  scientist. 

When,  then,  we  have  been  able,  in  a  measure,  to  answer 
the  question  "  What?"  and  have  the  facts  before  us  in  records 
or  in  museums,  there  presents  itself  to  the  scientific  mind 
the  second  query,  "How?"  How  came  this  to  pass?  What 
have  been  the  processes?     Can  they  be  repeated  or  varied? 

Here  comes  in,  the  so-called  practical,  economic  appli- 
cation of  scientific  knowledge,  the  use  of  facts,  nowhere 
more  earnestly  studied  than  in  our  own  land. 

The  jNIuseum  calls  into  existence  the  Institute  of  Tech- 
nology. 

But  while  some  are  content  to  stop  here,  to  others  comes 
irresistibly  the  query,  "  Why  ?  "  What  are  the  underlying 
principles?  And  the  query  divides  itself  into  two — causal 
and  teleological.  What  is  the  reason,  the  cause,  the  state- 
ment in  terms  of  law  ?  What  is  the  object,  the  final  result, 
the  end  to,  or  for  which? 

And  here  in  this  Smithsonian  Institution  are  gathered 
men  who  are  giving  their  lives  to  the  answering  of  these 
questions. 

The  museum,  with  its  facts,  both  in  biology  and  anthro- 
pology, has  rendered  possible  the  two  lectures  to  which  we 
have  already  listened  with  so  much  of  interest  and  profit. 

Now,  in  this  scientific  army,  it  were  well  if  we  all  were 
enrolled,  according  to  our  talents  and  our  opportunities,  and 
it  is,  I  suppose,  one  object  of  this  course  to  interest,  if  pos- 
sible, all  who  attend,  in  scientific  subjects;  to  instruct  in 
scientific  methods ;  to  give  information  as  to  what  has  been 
done,  and  to  suggest  what  remains  to  do. 

I  shall  now  attempt,  in  accordance  with  the  principles 
thus  enunciated,  to  state  a  few  facts,  possibly  some  of  them 
new  to  some  of  you,  to  make  a  few  generalizations,  to  sug- 
gest some  things  to  be  observed,  and  some  results  of  obser- 
vation among  the  Appalachians. 

Out  upon  the  watery  waste  of  the  Archean  Ocean,  as  the 
Eozoic  age  was  drawing  to  its  close,  looked  here  and  there  a 


Al'l'ALACIIIAN    MOUNTAINS.  47 

few  scattered  peaks,  '' rari  nantcs  in  gi.rgitc  vasto,"  outlining 
what  we  now  call  llie  A[)))alachian  Mountain  System. 

It  was  at  the  time  when,  as  we  learn  I'roni  the  earliest 
written  geological  record,  "  God  said  :  '  Let  th  3  waters  under 
the  heaven  be  gathered  together  unto  one  place,  and  lot  the 
dry  land  appear;'  and  it  was  so." 

For  countless  ages, '' chaos  and  old  night,"  had  enwrapped 
the  globe.  Its  molten  billows  had  surged  and  tossed  in  mad 
turmoil,  while  enveloping  clouds  of  murky  vapors  hid  the 
fiery  mass  from  sight. 

But  as  ages  pass  away,  and  radiation  into  space  cools  the 
glowing  sphere,  the  vapors  become  less  dense,  the  light  di- 
vides from  the  d;irkness,  and  a  crust  forms  over  the  liquid 
globe,  soon  to  be  rent  by  internal  convulsion,  upheaved  or 
.submerged  by  the  gigantic  forces  at  work,  partially  melted 
and  again  solidilicil.  till  at  length  a  continental  basis  is  as- 
sured. 

Now,  with  still  diminishing  heat,  the  aqueous  vapor  be- 
gins to  condense,  forming  oceans,  and  this  first  great  and 
final  differentiation  into  land  and  sea  is  accomplished. 

The  V-shaped  Laurentian  Highlands  appear,  constitu- 
ting the  back  bone  of  the  continent,  and  determining  the 
direction  of  its  future  extension,  while  parallel  with  the 
eastern  arm,  emerge  the  peaks  now  seen  in  the  Adirondacks 
of  New  York,  the  Highlands  of  New  Jerse)^  portions  of  the 
Blue  Ridge  of  Pennsylvania,  Virginia,  and  the  regions  far- 
ther southwest,  including  the  Black  Hills  of  North  Taro- 
lina. 

Around  the  bases  of  these  peaks  was  doubtless,  even  then, 

*a  great   mass   of  gneissoid    and   quartzose    rocks,  making 

great  shoals  and  forming  a  long  line  of  barrier  reefs,  }>ro- 

tecting  the  quiet  interior  basin  l'r<>ni  flic  fmv  of  the  jiplaizif 

waves. 

As  succeeding  ages  rolled  away,  in  the  slowly  sinking 
trough  on  the  west,  were  deposited  during  Silurian,  Devo- 
nian and  Carboniferous  ages,  strata  of  sandstones,  lime- 
stones, conglomerates,  shales,  beds  of  iron  and  coal,  aggre- 
gating   in    some   places    40.<*0()   feet,   till    at    the    close   of 


48  SATURDAY    LIX'TIKES. 

Paleozic  time  came  a  mighty  convulsion,  the  overbur- 
dened crust  giving  way  under  the  enormous  pressure  from 
above,  and  the  hiteral  pressure  of  a  cooling  globe,  and 
Hexing,  fracturing,  tilting,  uplifting  these  strata,  sometimes 
to  the  height  of  more  than  10,000  feet. 

Then  and  thus  was  the  great  mass  of  the  xVppalachian 
System  permanently  raised  above  the  ocean,  and  unimpor- 
tant have  been  the  changes  since,  except  by  erosion,  as  on 
the  east  the  waves  thundering  against  its  rocky  base  have 
pulverized  and  spread  out  the  sand  which  lines  our  coast 
from  Cape  Cod  to  Florida  ;  and  on  the  west  the  rains  and 
the  rivers  have  prepared  and  distributed  the  fertile  soil  of 
the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  then  woven  over  it  a  net-work  of 
water  courses. 

This  mountain  mass,  this  great  continental  fold,  extends 
from  the  promontory  of  Gaspd  on  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence, 
to  northern  Georgia  and  Alabama,  for  about  1,300  miles,  in 
an  undulating  line,  with  a  general  trend  from  northeast  to 
southwest,  and  presents  very  different  a.spects  in  different 
parts  of  its  course. 

On  the  east,  a  genth'  sloping  plain  extends  from  the 
mountains  to  the  ocean,  about  50  miles  wide  in  New  Eng- 
land, almost  disappearing  near  the  Hudson,  and  then  in  the 
Pine  Barrens  of  New  Jersey,  and  the  Eastern  Shore,  gradu- 
ally widening,  till  in  North  Carolina,  South  Carolina,  and 
Georgia,  it  attains  a  width  of  200  miles,  while  seaward,  it 
extends  from  20  to  100  miles  farther,  forming  those  extensive 
shoals  which  line  the  coast  from  Newfoundland  to  Florida. 

Its  elevation  above  tlie  sea,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains, 
is,  in  New  England,  from  300  to  500  feet.  In  the  valley  of 
the  Hudson,  it  rises  but  little  above  the  sea  level,  but  as  we 
go  farther  south,  into  Virginia,  the  Carolinas  and  Georgia, 
it  attains  an  altitude  of  over  1,000  feet,  forming  a  plateau  of 
considerable  extent,  known  as  the  Piedmont  Region,  and 
presenting  like  tlie  similar  plateaus  between  the  parallel 
mountain  chains,  a  most  attractive  combination  of  beautiful 
scenery,  fertile  soil,  and  a  climate,  for  comfort  and  healthful- 
ness,  unsurpassed  on  the  globe. 


.\1-|'AI.A<   111  AN     \|(il   STAINS.  40 

A  niiiarkaMf  Ifatiiic  <»r  this  system  is  a  large  central 
\allrv  running  its  eiitiu'  leii^^lh  from  north  t(i  south,  called 
l»y  Mr.  Ko,uers,  the  (Jreat  Ai)j)alaehiaii  N'alley. 

It  he^rins  with  the  hasin  of  l.ake  ( 'haiiii>laiii  ami  the  val- 
Icv.ofthe  Hudson:  in  I'ennsylvania  is  known  as  the  Kit- 
latinny  or  Cumberland  Valley:  in  \'ir«;inia,  the  Great  \'al- 
lev  widenin<;  out  at  last  into  the  \alley  of  East  Tennessee. 

But  wliilr  there  i<  this  coutiimity.  there  is  also  much  of 
contrast . 

Tiie  Apitalaehian  system  naturally  divides  into  three 
sections,  each  di tiering  in  many  respects  from  the  others. 

The  first  division  extends  from  Gaspe  to  tlie  Hudson, 
mainly  a  single  range,  known  in  its  different  portions,  as  the 
Canadian  Highlands,  Green  Mountains,  and  Highlands  of 
New  York,  with  the  outlying  groups  of  Katahdin  in  Maine, 
and  the  White  Mountains  of  New  Hampshire  on  the  east, 
and  the  Adirondacks  of  New  York  on  the  west. 

Thi>  chain  is  broken  through  Ijy  the  Hudson  and  Mohawk, 
and  attains  its  minimum  of  altitude  and  width,  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  these  rivers. 

Four  himdred  feet  rise  in  the  waters  of  the  ocean  would 
.separate  all  tliis  northern  division  from  the  American  conti- 
nent ;  one  hun(h-ed  and  forty  feet  would  make  an  island  of 
all'New  England  and  the  British  possessions  as  far  as  Gaspe, 
for  the  bottom  of  the  valley  occupied  by  Lake  Cham])lain 
and  the  Hudson  does  not,  anywhere,  exceed  this  level. 

This  was  the  lir-t  i-oute  across  the  country  traversed  by 
canal  and  railroad.  Jt  seems  probable  that  this  de)»ression 
i<  the  result  of  a  subsidence  of  that  portion  of  the  system, 
at  a  period  subsequent  to  that  of  its  original  elevation,  and 
it  i<  i)roved  that  all  New  .h-rsey.  from  Cape  Ahiy  to  New 
\n\k.  is  midergoing  a  gradual  subsidence.  Along  portions 
ot  the  coast  the  remains  of  submerged  forests  are  now  visi- 
ble- under  water,  and  the  soundings  of  the  Coast  Survey  have 
determined  the  existence  of  an  ancient  channel,  a  continu- 
ation of  tiiat  of  the  Hmlson.  leading  far  out  to  .n-a.  which 
could  have  been  excavated  only  wlun  the  ]>resent  bottom 
of  the  sea  occupie-d  a  higher  level. 


50  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

The  central  portion  extends  for  about  450  miles,  from  the 
Hudson  to  the  New  River  in  Virginia,  known  farther  along 
in  its  course  as  the  Great  Kanawha,  is  connnonly  spoken 
of  as  the  Alleghanies,  and  consists  of  many  long,  parallel 
chains,  separated  by  fertile  valleys,  and  interrupted  here 
and  there  by  notches  and  gaps,  through  which  the  rivers 
find  their  way  to  the  sea. 

It  is  in  threading  these  mountain  defiles,  and  now  and 
then  crossing  a  ridge  by  zigzag  approaches,  that  the  Balti- 
more and  Ohio,  and  Pennsylvania  railroads  afford  the  pas- 
senger, views  of  such  surpassing  beauty  and  grandeur. 

The  system  attains  its  greatest  width  in  Pennsylvania, 
gradually  narrowing  ftirther  Fouth,  but  attaining  greater 
elevation,  rising  from  800  to  1,500,  2,000,  2,500  feet,  and  in 
the  Peaks  of  Otter,  in  A^irginia,  reaching  an  altitude  of  4,000 
feet. 

In  Virginia  the  eastern  chain  is  called  the  Blue  Ridge, 
the  extreme  western  range  the  Cumberland,  while  the  higher 
range  or  ranges  between  is  known  as  the  Alleghanies.  Thus 
far  the  system,  though  no  longer  single,  is  composed  of  simi- 
lar parallel  wave-like  ridges,  separated  by  longitudinal  val- 
leys. 

From  the  New  River  south,  this  is  changed,  and  the  system 
becomes  greatly  complicated. 

The  main  chain,  hitherto  known  as  the  Blue  Ridge,  is  de- 
flected to  the  southwest,  and  in  a  circuitous  line  for  250  or 
300  miles,  under  the  names  of  Iron,  Stone,  Bald,  Great 
Smoky,  and  Unaka  mountains,  forms  the  boundary  line  be- 
tween North  Carolina  and  Tennessee,  rising  frequently  to 
heights  exceeding  6,000  feet. 

While  the  more  easterly  range,  thence  bearing  the  name 
of  Blue  Ridge,  and  finding  its  southern  terminus  at  Cesar's 
Head,  in  South  Carolina,  where  the  ridge  turns  abruptly  to 
the  northwest,  reaches  even  loftier  attitudes,  Mitchell's  High 
Peak  rising  to  6,717  feet. 

In  North  Carolina,  these  two  ranges  are  more  than  50 
miles  apart,  and  for  more  than  100  miles  they  constitute  a 
great  central  i)lateau  like  that  of  Colorado,  on  a  small  scale. 


Al'l'AI   A(   n  I  AN     \t<MNIAINS.  ')1 

Instead,  howi-wr.  uf  m  ((Hitinuous  Idiiiiitiulinal  valle\'  be- 
tween these  chains.  Hkethe  (_lieat  Vallt^v  »)t\'ir'j:inia,  we  lind 
them  connected  bv  transverse  (;hains  wliich  lilccwisc  "divide 
this  valley  into  ju^reat  basins,  at  the  i)ottoni  of  each  one  of 
which  runs  one  of  those  monntain  tributaries  of  the  Ten- 
nessee, which  by  the  abundance  of  their  waters,  merit  the 
name  of  the  true  sources  of  that  noble  river." 

Thus  the  l\o;in  and  Bijjj  Yellow  chains  .separate  the  basin 
of  the  Watauiia.  from  that  of  the  Nolechucky.  while  the 
northwest  riili^e  of  the  Black  Mountains  makes  a  •  divide  " 
between  this  last,  and  the  Fi-ench  l]roa<l. 

Between  the  New  Found  and  the  ( ireat  Balsam  Mountains, 
rises  the  Big  Pigeon  River,  wliile  from  the  basin  between 
the  Great  Balsam,  and  the  Cowee  ranges,  Hows  out  the  Tuck- 
asegee. 

Next   comes  the  J.ittle  Tennessee,  and  then  beyond   the 
Nantahela    range,  the    Iliwassec    river,   separated   by   tin 
Stansbury  Mountains  from  the  Toccoa,  tlu'  last   of  these 
mountain  tributaries  of  the  Tennessee. 

And,  as  all  these,  with  many  other  rivers,  rise  in  tin 
northwestern  slope  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  draining  that  large 
area,  and  are  then  forced  to  cut  their  way  through  the  gaps 
and  gorges  and  defiles  of  the  central  chain,  with  its  average 
altitude  of  nearly  0,000  feet,  it  is  not  strange  that  here  is 
found  some  of  the  grandest  and  most  jiicturesquc  scenery  to 
be  found  in  the  Union. 

On  the  Atlantic  slope,  the  Roanoke,  Catawba,  Savannah, 
and  other  rivers  rea<'h  the  lower  levels  witli  much  less  diffi- 
culty. 

Says  Prof  Gyjyof'  who  has  devoltd  much  time  to  moun- 
tain exploration,  and  done  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other 
man  to  make  us  acquainted  with  our  own  mountains,  and 
to  wdiom  1  would  here  acknowledge  my  indebtedness  for 
many  of  the  facts  and  not  a  few  of  the  generalizations  and 
descriptions  of  this  lecture — '  Here,  then,  through  an  cx- 


*Article  on  the  Appal.ichian   Mountain  system,  .\nicrican  Journal  of  Science, 
March.  iSoi. 


52  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

tent  of  more  than  150  milc.-^,  the  mean  height  of  the  valley 
from  which  the  mountains  rise  is  more  than  2,000  feet ; 
the  mountains  which  reach  6,000  feet  are  counted  by  scores, 
and  the  loftiest  peaks  rise  above  6,700  feet,  while  at  the 
north,  in  the  group  of  the  White  ^^lountains,  the  base  is 
scarcely  1,000  feet,  the  gaps  2,000  feet,  and  Mount  Wash- 
ington, the  only  one  which  rises  above  6,000  feet,  is  still  400 
feet  below  the  height  of  the  Black  Dome  of  the  Black 
Mountains. 

"Here  then  is,  in  all  respects,  the.  culminating  region  of 
the  vast  Appalachian  sj'stem." 

We  will  now  consider  somewhat  more  in  detail,  the  con- 
trasts already  in  part  suggested,  between  the  northern  and 
the  southern  divisions,  and  will  take  as  a  representative  of 
the  one,  Mouiit  Washington,  in  New  Hampshire,  with  an 
altitude  of  6,288  feet,  and  for  the  other.  Roan  ^Mountain, 
North  Carolina,  reaching  6,391  feet. 

First,  we  will  contrast  the  modes  of  approach.  From 
Portland,  Maine,  a  railroad  trip  of  about  100  miles  carries 
us  through  a  rolling  country,  becoming  hilly  as  we  approach 
the  mountains,  and  exhibits  a  flora  characteristic  of  the  lati- 
tude, and  changing  but  little  till  one  is  half  way  up  the 
mountain ;  a  railway  takes  us  to  the  very  summit. 

From  Norfolk,  Ya.,  for  100  miles  of  railroad  through  the 
tide-water  region  to  Petersburg,  we  pass  over  a  sandy  plain 
nowhere  100  feet  above  the  sea  level,  and  at  Petersburg  only 
11  feet.  Thence  another  100  miles  brings  us  to  L3aichburg, 
through  a  rolling  countr}^  rising  as  high  as  800  feet — and 
from  there  on  we  plunge  among  and  climb  up  mountains 
and  plateaus,  the  railroad  reaching  an  elevation  of  1,500 
feet  within  the  first  60  miles,  and  for  the  next  150  miles 
nowhere  descending  lower  than  that,  but  attaining  in  places 
an  altitude  of  over  2,500  feet,  till  at  Johnson  City,  Tenn., 
steam  power  deserts  us.  A  rough  stage  ride  of  25  miles, 
crossing  the  state  line  into  North  Carolina,  exhibits  a  strik- 
ing contrast  in  the  flora. 

Following  Buffalo  Creek  for  10  miles  in  a  southwesterly 
direction,  parallel  with  Buffalo  mountain,  we  travel  through 


Ai'i'Ai ..uiiiAN  .\hm;ntains.  53 

a  liinosloiu'  rruioii.  the  water  s<»  hard  that  <l rangers  arc ul'teu 
made  .sick  by  its  aso,  and  the  vciijetation  ii<>t  unlike  that  of 
X'iri^inia — forests,  wild  flowers.  ero])s  aixi  wee<ls,  sassafras 
l»at(lKs,  hlacklu'rry  briars,  and  all. 

Tlun  we  turn  abruptly  to  the  southeast,  over  limestone 
ridges,  across  a  sli<rht  water-shed,  half  a  mile  in  width  and 
oU  feet  in  hciiiht,  and  we  are  in  a  ([uart/ite.  or  as  they  call  it 
there,  "  freestone"  re<,d«»n.  the  water  eouK  <lear.  and  i)ure, 
an<l  in  a  few  moments  we  }»lunge  into  a  ii,ro\-e  of  hemlocks, 
pines,  s|)ruces,  and  sugar-maples,  with  huckleberries  and 
wintergreen  beneath,  that  reminds  us  of  Xew  England,  wliile 
the  thickets  of  rhododendron,  leucothoe,  calycanthus,  oxy- 
dendron,  and  magnolia  prove  to  us  that  wc  are  still  in 
Dixie. 

Over  the  Iron  Mountain  range,  climbing  wearily  up  and 
then  rattling  furiously  down  its  1,500  feet  of  elevation,  and 
we  come  to  the  base  of  Roan  Mountain,  standing  out  in  the 
sunshine  more  than  3,000  feet  above  us.  For  seven  miles 
we  wind  in  and  out  among  cliffs  and  around  the  heads  of 
ravines,  over  a  road  skillfully  engineered,  but  far  from  reas- 
suring to  weak  nerves,  and  at  length  we  stand  on  the  sum- 
mit, upon  the  boundary  line  between  North  Carolina  and 
Tennessee,  looking  olV  upon  these  two  States,  and,  in  a<ldi- 
tion,  catching  glimpses  of  Virginia.  West  \'irginia.  South 
Carolina.  Georgia,  and  Kentucky. 

In  strong  contrast,  likewise,  to  the  spacious  Tip-Top  liou.se 
of  Mount  Washington,  securely  anchored  by  huge  chains  to 
its  granite  foundations,  is  the  rough  log-house  of  Cloudland 
Hotel  nestled  among  the  firs,  wdiere,  two  years  ago,  a  party 
of  twenty-five  Washingtonians  found  comfortable  quarters 
for  two  months,  spending  the  coolest  summer  of  our  lives, 
and  to  some  of  us,  at  least,  the  most  enjoyable. 

Contra.sting  the  mountains  them.selvcs,  we  begin  the  ac- 
cent of  Mount  Washington,  in  a  Ibrest  identical  with  that 
of  the  surrounding  country.  When  we  n^aeh  3,()00  feet,  all 
the  trees  have  grown  perceptildy  smaller,  an<l  all  the  decidu- 
ous trees,  except,  perhaps,  the  dwarf  birches  and  mountain 
ashe-s,  have  «lisappeared.      In   anoth<r   1,000  feet   the  ever- 


54  SATl'RDAY    LECTURES. 

greens  have  become  dwarfed  to  shruljs,.  three  or  four  feet 
high,  so  dense  that  you  may  often  walk  for  rods  upon  their 
tops.  At  5,000  feet,  onh^  a  few  creeping  shrubs  remain,  and 
for  the  remaining  1,200  feet  we  have  only  a  ridge  of  barren 
rocks,  with  liere  and  there  a  few  grasses  and  sedges,  and  a 
few  heaths  and  mosses  with  the  arctic  sandwort,  Arenoria 
Groenlandica,  keeping  up  the  struggle  for  existence. 

Ascending  Eoan  mountain,  at  l^etween  3.000  and  4,000 
feet  of  altitude,  we  pass  through  a  belt  of  giant  trees.  One 
chestnut  measured  24  feet  in  circumference  at  five  feet  from 
the  ground  ;  one  black  cherry  iPrunus  serotina)  measured  10 
feet,  and  as  straight  as  a  pine,  rose  70  feet  without  a  lirnl), 
while  hundreds  of  chestnuts,  sugar  maples,  lindens,  and 
tulip  trees  were  seen  from  four  to  seven  feet  in  diameter, 
and  70  or  80  feet  to  the  first  limb. 

During  the  next  2,000  feet  the  deciduous  trees  gradually 
disappear,  till  hemlocks,  firs,  and  spruces  alone  remain. 

At  length,  emerging  from  the  belt  of  evergreens  surround- 
ing, and  in  j^laces  coming  to  the  ver}"-  summit,  we  come  out 
upon  a  grass}^  slope  of  1,000  acres,  the  soil  rich,  black,  and 
a  foot  or  two  deep,  largely  composed  of  vegetable  humus, 
the  grass  of  a  most  vivid  green,  and  dotted  here  and  there 
with  clumps  of  mountain  alder,  {Alnus  viridis,)  and  moun- 
tain laurel,  {Rhododendron  Cafcnvbiense,)  the  latter  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  shrubs  that  can  be  imas-ined,  formino-  svm- 
metrical  domes  of  dark  pink,  from  6  to  8  feet  high.  Add 
to  this  large  areas  of  mountain  honeysuckle,  (Rhododendron 
calendulaceum,)  with  great  masses  of  bloom,  varying  from 
golden  3'ellow  to  deep  crimson,  so  that  the  hillside  seems  a 
flame  of  fire,  and  you  can  cease  to  wonder  that  Dr.  Gray, 
who  first  explored  this  mountain  in  1841,  pronounces  it  the 
most  beautiful  of  American  mountains. 

These  grassy  summits  or  "  balds,"  are  a  marked  feature  of 
these  southern  Appalachians,  giving  a  name  to  one  long 
range,  and  raise  an  interesting  question  as  to  what  climatic 
or  other  changes,  have  sufficed,  first,  to  stimulate  a  forest 
oTOwth  of  deciduous  trees  sufficient  to  account  for  such  an 


AI'l'AI    \<1IIA\     M(M   NIAINS.  55 

arcUlllulatiull   of    Vt'L!;(.'tul»li'   HKMiM.  ai|(|     then    >n    colniilrtclv 

Id  (lostrov  these  forests  as  to  leave  no  traee  behind. 

At  either  eiul,  this  grassy  sloj)C  is  terminated  l»y  a  loiky 
>unimit,  on  which,  however,  shrubs,  grasses,  and  llowcrs  grow 
in  prolusion,  but  rising  some  70  or  80  feet  above  the  plain 
below,  tliesi'  sinumits  lieing  about  two  miles  apart,  and  the 
southern  one  terminating  in  clill's,  hundreds  of  feet  in  [)er- 
]>endieular  lieight. 

As  regards  the  ilora  on  Mount  Washington,  for  the  first 
o.OOO  feet  we  lind  but  few  sj)ecies  Avhich  are  not  observed 
ar(iun<l  the  base,  but  al)OVe  that  oeeur  some  GO  alpine  or 
sub-alpine  sjieeies  not  met  with  at  lower  levels,  till  we  aj)- 
proaeh  Labrador  or  even  Greenland. 

As  we  ascend  from  3,000  to  5,000  feet  on  Roan  mountain 
we  lind  the  Ilora  recalling  that  of  tlie  thick  woods  of  Maine 
and  New  Hampshire.  Twenty  characteristic  species  of  the 
northern  woods  are  abundant,  while  closely  associated  with 
them  are  some  30  species  distinctively  southern. 

Perhaps  .'>(►  spt'cics  more  are  confined  to  the  upjier  1,000 
feet. 

iSome  of  these  are  sub-alpine,  and  replace  those  of  Mount 
AVashington  witli  different  species  of  the  same  or  kindred 
genera,  as  Arcuaria  (jlahru  in  place  of  J.  GrocnJandka ;  Prc- 
nantlics  Boaiicnsis,  in  place  of  7^.  nanus  nud  Iloottii ;  Vac- 
ciniuiii  fn/tJimcai'pon,  a  straggling  shi-ub  three  or  four  feet 
high,  in  place  of  V.  Vitts-idaca,  a  compact  creeping  mass; 
Rhododendron  Cataivbiensc,  with  its  magnificent  domes  of 
bloom,  in  place  of  the  little  B.  Lapponicum,  only  three  or 
four  inches  in  height;  Carer  aestivalis  i\w(\  jancea,  in  place  of 
C.  airata,  scirpoidca,  and  others. 

The  beautiful  Solidago  tltj/rsoidea  of  the  lower  slopes  of 
Mount  AVashington  is  replaced  on  the  sujnmit  of  lloan,  by  a 
kindred  species,  in  similar  luxuriance  and  abundance,  S. 
glomerata.  Paronychia argyrocomaj'imwd  only  in  the  Willey 
Notch  of  the  White  Mountains,  occurs  on  iJoan  oidy  on  the 
summit  of  Eagle  Clill'. 

Three  species,  Alnus  viridis,  Vcrairum  viride.  and  Li/copo- 


56  SATURDAY    LECTflJKS. 

dium  Selago,  are  found  in  similar  situations  on  tho  two  moun- 
tains, only  about  1,000  feet  lower  on  Mount  Washington. 

As  would  be  expected  from  the  flora,  the  contrast  between 
the  temperatures  of  these  different  mountains  is  very  strik- 
ing. 

On  one  of  my  last  visits  to  Mount  Washington,  July  12. 
the  mercury  stood  at  36°,  and  the  wind  was  blowing  at  tho 
rate  of' 40  miles  an  hour. 

While  on  Roan,  during  nine  weeks  from  June  to  Septem- 
ber, the  mercury  once  indicated  75°,  seven  times  only  was 
it  above  70°,  once  it  was  45°,  and  only  three  times  was  it 
below  50°.  Three  days  out  of  five  the  daih'  extremes 
would  bo  comprised  between  55°  and  65°. 

The  equability  of  barometrical  pressure  was  noteworthy, 
the  mean  height  of  the  mercurial  column  being  a  little  less 
than  24  inches,  while  the  highest  was  24.19,  the  lowest 
23.87,  or  a  variation  of  only  .32.  The  corrected  mean  of  all 
the  observations  compared  with  those  of  the  nearest  station 
of  the  Weather  Service,  at  Knoxville,  Tenn.,  gave  6,391  feet 
as  the  height  of  the  summit. 

As  a  result  of  this  equability  of  barometric  pressure,  was 
noticed  an  absence  of  high  winds  quite  remarkable  at 
that  altitude,  and  quite  in  contrast  with  my  experience  at 
Mount  Washington.  At  no  time,  so  far  as  I  could  judge, 
did  it  reach  a  velocity  of  20  miles  an  hour,  and  seldom 
more  than  from  5  to  10. 

Nor,  except  in  one  place,  was  there  any  indication  of  the 
occurrence  of  a  tornado  in  the  past. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  this  absolute  exemption  from  heat, 
with  the  slight  variation  in  barometric  pressure  should  be 
found  to  give  absolute  exemption  from  "  hay  fever."  And 
it  is  not,  perhaps,  beyond  the  limit  of  scientific  induction  to 
hazard  the  prediction,  that  among  these  southern  Appa- 
lachian mountains  and  plateaus  will  be  established  many  a 
sanitarium,  located  as  regards  altitude  and  exposure,  to  meet 
the  needs  of  those  afllicted  with  various  forms  of  pulmon- 
ary, bronchial  and  nervous  diseases. 


AI'r.M.At   III.W     Mill   STAINS.  •'< 

The  only  icinaiuiiii;  coiitriisl  that  I  >liall  notice  will  i)e 
that  of  the  scenery. 

The  White  ^[oiintaiiis  are  at  one  side  of  the  main  chain. 

In  the  distanei'  we  see  on  the  west  the  (Jreeii  M(»nnlains 
stretchinii"  alonii  the  Imii/on. 

Immediately  an>nn<l  aw  the  sister  jx-aks  iA'  the  White 
Mountain  and  l"'iancnnia  ranues.  hut  neither  on  the  north, 
ea.st,  ur  the  south,  are  any  lofty  mountains  in  siuht ;  while 
in  all  these  directions  lakes,  ponds,  rivers.  an<l  streams  <li- 
versify  and  heautify  the  landscaije. 

From  Roan,  the  view  is  widely  different.  "  Mountains  to 
rioht  of  us,  mountains  to  left  of  us,"  stretching  away  on 
every  side  to  the  liorizon,  mountain  monarchs  every  one, 
scores  over  (>,000  feet  in  height,  hardly  a  level  acre  in  sight, 
even  tlie  valleys  2,000  or  3,000  feet  above  sea  level,  and  in 
all  this  wide  expanse,  only  one  little  glimpse  of  water,  where 
a  tlozen  miles  away,  the  Xoleehucky  is  hurrying  on  to  the 
'Ft  iinessee. 

On  the  south  we  look  up  to  the  Black  >hjuntain  range, 
with  Mitchell's  High  Peak,  on  which  rest  the  hones  of  its 
intrepid  explorer,  rising  more  than  3,000  feet  above  us. 

(.)n  the  east  and  southea.st  the  Blue  Ridge  is  in  sight  with 
Grandtather  and  Grandmother  mountains  and  countless  un- 
named peaks. 

(Jn  the  north  and  west,  the  great  plateau  of  Tennessee, 
with  the  (Clinch  and  other  ranges,  or  rather  plateaus,  twenty 
or  more  in  number,  stretching  away  in  long  parallel  lines, 
as  level  as  .so  many  railroad  emhankment.s,  .sometimes  for 
40  or  ."iO  miles  with  n(»  apparent  gap  or  peak,  till  in  the  dim 
distance  the  blue  line  of  the  Cumberland  range  outlines  the 
horizon. 

The  cloud  views  are  grand  beyond  description.  <  )Uen  in 
the  early  morning  the  whole  country  will  be  covered  with 
a  mass  of  pure  white  vapor,  like  the  waters  of  a  shoreless 
sea,  with  only  here  and  there  a  monntain  top.  like  an  island, 
emerging  from  the  billows. 

And  then  as  the  ravs  of   tin-  rising  sun  fall  ujion  tlieni. 


58  SATir.DAY    I.ECTUrvES. 

they  assume  tints  of  ]nnk  and  crimson  and  gold,  and  soon 
with  the  morning  breezes  they  melt  away  and  the  landscape 
stands  revealed  in  all  its  freshness  and  beauty. 

Rarely  on  the  clearest  day  can  you  stand  for  half  an  hour 
upon  one  of  the  high  peaks  without  seeing  showers  and  local 
storms  sweeping  over  the  countr}'  in  various  directions. 
Often  several  may  be  seen  at  once ;  not  unfrequently  one 
takes  a  turn  and  comes  over  us  with  most  unwelcome  sud- 
denness, though  ver}^  often  they  are  below  us. 

On  two  sides  of  the  mountains,  deej)  gulfs  or  ravines  come 
nearly  to  the  mountain  top,  so  that  you  may  stand  on  an  al- 
most perpendicular  precipice  and  look  down  into  a  gulf  from 
1,000  to  2,000  feet  deep,  at  your  very  feet,  and  see  the  clouds 
form  far  below,  as  a  moist  air  from  the  valley  sweeps  up  the 
gorge  and  meets  the  cooler  temperature  of  the  upper  height. 

It  were  well  if  many  of  us,  citizens  of  this  great  Republic, 
could  look  upon  both  the  northern  and  southern  divisions 
of  this  might}'  chain,  which  has  been  for  so  many  ages  the 
rampart  of  our  easte^'n  coast,  and  learn  that  neither  section 
has  a  monopoly  of  nature's  gifts. 

It  were  well,  if  we  would  learn  to  contrast  and  enjoy  these 
varieties  of  mountain  sublimit}^ ;  that  there  are  mountains 
and  mountains;  that,  as  the  stars,  one  mountain  clifFereth 
from  another  mountain  in  glory. 

It  were  well,  if  we  would  learn  to  study  mountains,  to  ac- 
quaint ourselves  with  their  peculiarities,  to  make  them  our 
friends,  to  know  and  to  love  them. 

It  is  well  for  us,  as  scientific  observers,  noting  all  the  facts 
alike  in  anthropology  and  biology,  to  note  and  carefully  to 
remember  that  fact  of  all  history,  that  mountains  have  not 
only  deflected  the  winds  and  influenced  the  temperature 
and  rainfall,  but  have  also  had  a  powerful  influence  upon 
the  dwellers  among  them;  that  patriotism  has  ever  flour- 
ished most  vigorousl}^  when  nourished  by  mountain  air : 
that  freedom  has  ever  loved  to  make  her  home  amid  moun- 
tain peaks;  that  "  men,  highminded  men,  who  know  their 
rights,  and  knowing,  dare  maintain,"  \\'hether  in  Greece,  in 


All' MM  111  AN    MolNlAINS.  ")".) 

S\vit/.i'rl;m<l.  ur  in  «»iir<»\vii  comitrv,  have  so  olleii  coiiU!  forth 
IVoiii  luotiiitaiii  liMiiM's. 

And  in  Niiwoltliis  lact.  wr  shall  liave  no  cause  to  wonder 
tliat  men  have  loved  (lie  mountains,  and  in  so  many  hearts 
ii  responsive  chord  is  struck  when  they  licar  I  lie  rinjring 
periods  of  the  mountaineers  hymn: 

•'  For  the  .slrcngtli  of  the  hills  \vc  bless  Thee, 

Our  Clod  ;  our  father's  God  ! 
Tiiou  hast  made  Thy  children  mighty 

By  the  touch  of  the  mountain  sod. 
The  rocks  yield  founts  of  courage, 

Struck  forth,  as  by  Thy  rod — 
For  the  strength  of  the  hills  we  bless  Thee, 

Our  God,  our  father's  flod  I" 


OUTLINES  OF  SOCIOLOGY. 


Lecture  delivered   in   the  National    Museum,  Washington,   D.  C,  April   i,  1882 
by  Major  J.  W.  POWEI^L. 


By  organized  association  men  live  together  in  bodies 
politic.  That  men  may  live  in  peace,  render  each  other 
assistance  and  act  togetjier  as  units  for  mutual  protection, 
is  the  purpose  subserved  by  organized  association.  In  order 
that  men  may  associate  their  conduct  must  be  regulated. 
For  the  regulation  of  conduct  there  must  be  organization, 
and  the  plan  upon  which  a  body  politic  is  organized  de- 
pends upon  the  nature  of  the  regulation  for  which  it  is 
used — organ  is  adapted  to  function. 

The  organization  of  the  body  politic  constitutes  the  state. 

Again,  there  must  be — 

First,  some  method  of  determining  the  particulars  of  con- 
duct that  require  regulation  and  the  quality  and  (juantity 
of  the  regulation  recjuired. 

Second,  there  must  be  means  of  enforcing  regulation. 

Third,  there  must  be  means  of  determining  whether  con- 
duct conforms  to  rule.  The  machinery  established  by  a 
society  for  accomplishing  these  purposes  constitutes  govern- 
ment. 

Yet  again,  there  are  the  rules  which  the  body  politic  de- 
termines to  be  necessary  for  peace,  mutual  assistance,  pro- 
tection, and  the  common  welfare,  and  these  constitute  the 
law. 

The  science  of  sociology  from  the  nature  of  the  functions 
of  social  organization  may  be  fundamentally  divided  into 
three  subjects — the  constitution  of  the  state,  the  form  of  the 
government,  and  the  regulation  embodied  in  the  law — the 
state,  the  government,  the  law. 

THE  STATE. 

A  state  is  a  body  politic — an  organized  group  of  men 
with  an  established  government  and  a  body  of  determined 

(60) 


<H  TI.INKS    Ol"    SO('H»I.(>«iV.  'il 

law.  In  the  (»ii:aiii/:iti<»ii  of  societies  units  ot"  diHereut 
ordorsaredisfovercd.  A  society  of  the hijxhostor first  orderis 
made  iipof  a  nuinberof  societies  or  j;rouj»s  of  a  second  order, 
and  tliese  may  ai,^ain  he  made  ujt  of  a  number  of  groups  of  a 
third  or  fourtii  ordei'.  The  term  state  as  liere  used  em- 
luaces  tlie  entin-  hody  of  men  included  in  the  lart^est  unit, 
and  conseriuently  all  the  men  of  each  subordinate  unit, 
when  it  refer-  to  tli('  body  politic  as  a  <i"roup  of  men,  and 
when  it  refers  to  the  oruanization  it  in<-ludesthe  constituent 
plan  of  the  largest  and  its  included  units.  It  should  l)e 
noticed  that  this  use  of  the  term  state  is  not  consistent  with 
a  common  practice  in  this  country,  but  we  may  illustrate 
by  reference  thereto.  The  term  state  would  tlius  be  synony- 
mous with  United  States,  including  its  several  units  of 
States,  counties,  townships,  cities,  wards  and  all  other  sub- 
ordinate divisions.  The  term  state,  then,  is  used  to  desig- 
nate an  organized  body  of  people  of  the  higliest  order  em- 
bracing all  its  subsidiary  organizations. 

SOCIOLOGIC  CLASSES. 

In  tlie  foregoing  characterization  of  the  state  it  has  been 
considered  as  a  body  politic  organized  for  civil  government, 
that  is,  for  the  regulation  of  the  conduct  of  the  individuals 
of  the  state  as  they  are  related  to  each  other.  But  the  con- 
duct of  the  members  of  the  state,  or  of  tlie  entire  body 
politic,  may  have  relations  to  other  bodies  politic:  so  that 
conduct  must  be  regulated  in  its  internal  relations  and  its 
external  relations. 

Now,  the  relations  of  state  to  stale  may  be  i-egulated.  by 
<-ommon  agreement,  and  they  are  thus  regulated  to  a  large 
i'xtent.  I>ut  thi'i  regulation  is  imperfect  and  weak  Irom  the 
fact  that  no  common  government  is  organized  to  which  all 
the  states  are  alike  obedient.  The  lack  of  such  a  common 
government  for  states  leads  to  the  settlement  of  disputes  by 
war.  Each  state  {)repares  itself  to  enforce  its'wishes  or  de- 
fend its  rights  by  resort  to  arms.  It  seems  prol)able  that  in 
the  earliest  stages  of  society  all  able-bodied  men  take  part 
in  its  militarv  aflairs.     Riit   verv  (\irlv  a  <liirerentiation  is 


62  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

discovered  by  which  u  pait  only  of  the  men  belong  to  the 
army ;  and  thus  we  have  the  military  class  as  distinguished 
from  the  civil  class. 

In  all  governments  which  have  hitherto  existed,  human 
conduct  has  been  regulated  in  its  relations  to  supernatural 
beings.  It  has  always  been  believed  that  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind depends  largely  or  even  primaril}-  upon  the  will  of  the 
gods,  or  of  one  god — the  Supreme  Ruler  of  the  Universe. 

The  relation  of  man  to  his  god  gives  rise  to  religion. 
The  conduct  involved  is  religious  conduct ;  and  hence  reli- 
gion comes  to  be  an  important  factor  in  determining  the 
constitution  of  the  state,  the  nature  of  the  government,  and 
the  character  of  the  law. 

Thus  in  the  constitution  of  the  state  we  find  three  classes  of 
people  more  or  less  distinctly  differentiated  :  The  civil,  the 
military,  and  the  priestly  class.  As  these  classes  appear  in 
the  constitution  of  the  state  they  also  affect  in  varying  de- 
grees the  form  of  the  government,  and  the  relations  arising 
therefrom  are  regulated  by  law. 

.SOCIAL  RANKS. 

In  many  stages  of  society  grades  or  ranks  of  people  are 
discovered  based  upon  heredity,  possession  of  land,  wealth 
and  other  circumstances  giving  rise  to  aristocracies — com- 
mon people  and  slaves — patricians  and  plebeians. 

CORPORATIONS. 

In  many  states  two  grand  classes  of  organizations  are 
found — the  first  class  is  directly  related  to  government  and 
embraces  the  organizations  mentioned  above  as  grouped 
in  different  orders.  The  second  class  is  indirectlj'^  related 
to  government.  These  organizations  serve  a  variety  of 
purposes.  Men  are  organized  into  societies  for  religious, 
charitable,  educational,  industrial,  and  other  ends,  and 
such  societies  will  here  be  called  corporations.  These 
organizations  of  the  minor  class,  unlike  those  of  the  major 
class,  do  not  constitute  a  part  of  the  government,  but 
they   form   a   part"  of  the  state   and    must  necessarily  be 


rUTI.INKS    Ol'    SOCIOI.OCY.  63 

considered  in  tlir  plan  of  the  state.  While  not  a  part  of 
the  jjovernment  in  an  important  way  tlicy  are  connected 
therewith.  Tlie  rc';i;nhition  of  conduct  involved  in  the  suc- 
resslul  workinjjf  of  sucli  corporations  may  be  immediately 
dctrrniined  by  the  bodies  of  men  severally  involved  and 
expressed  in  rharters,  constitutions,  by-laws,  and  rules  of 
order.  Ihit  (.\.  r  all  iliosr  is  the  law  of  the  government 
with  which  the  rules  or  laws  of  the  .several  minor  organiza- 
tions must  conform,  and  for  the  ultimate  entbrcement  of 
which  government  is  to  a  large  extent  responsible.  Thus 
we  have  the  major  and  minor  organizations  of  the  state,  the 
major  and  minor  laws  of  the  state,  and  the  government  of 
the  state  directly  enforcing  the  major  laws  and  indirectly 
enforcing  the  minor  laws. 

The  science  called  sociology  in  its  three  great  divisions — 
the  .state,  the  government,  and  the  law — deals  with  all  orga- 
nizations of  the  people  for  whatsoever  purpose  they  may  be 
formed. 

A  part  of  (he  regulation  of  a  .state  belongs  to  the  major, 
another  part  to  the  minor  organizations  of  the  state,  but 
the  functions  of  the  two  classes  of  regulation  are  not  clearly 
and  permanently  differentiated.  A  particular  system  of 
regulation  may  be  relegated  now  to  the  government,  and 
now  to  a  .society  of  the  minor  class,  or  the  .system  of  regu- 
lation may  be  divided  between  them.  For  example,  the 
government  may  entirely  control  a  system  of  education,  or 
the  .system  of  education  may  be  entirely  controlled  by  minor 
societies;  or,  again,  a  part  of  the  educational  system  may 
belong  to  the  government,  and  a  part  to  minor  societies. 
The  boundary  lines  between  major  an«l  minor  regulation 
are  ever  shifting. 

A  ST.VFE  IS  .\   PLKXUS  OF  ORCAM/ATK  >NS. 

In  the  foregoing  statement  it  is  .-^een  that  the  grand  unit 
of  social  organization,  the  state,  is  itself  composed  of  many 
minor  organizations  forming  units  in  a  descending  series, 
so  that  the  state  has  a  compound  structure.  It  also  has  a 
complex  structure.  Before  defining  this  complexity  an 
illustration  from  biology  may  be  in  place. 


64  sA'ri  liDAY  ij:ctui{es. 

An  animal  i.s  composed  of  many  organs  performing  dif- 
ferent functions.  Thus  i.s  found  the  brain — the  organ  of 
lliought,  the  organ  of  breathing,  the  organs  of  digestion,  the 
organs  of  circuhition,  the  organs  of  locomotion,  and  so  forth. 
Running  through  all  these  organs  and  forming  a  plexus 
"svith  them,  are  the  systems  of  tissues.  Thus  avc  find  the 
nervous,  vascular,  and  muscular  systems,  the  whole  forming 
a.  complex  tissue  of  organs,  and  systems  of  organs,  rendering 
the  organism  excessively  complex  in  pln'sical  constitution. 

In  the  examination  of  the  constitution  of  any  particular 
state,  it  will  usually  be  found  that  one  S3''stem  of  organiza- 
tion permeates  and' pervades  other  systems  in  such  a  manner 
that  the  individual  state  is  found  excessivelj^  complex. 
Through  the  series  of  units  into  which  the  state  is  organ- 
ized for  the  purposes  of  government,  both  classes  and  ranks 
are  interwoven,  and  through  the  government  units — the 
classes  and  the  ranks— corporations  are  interwoven. 

In  the  Muskoki  Confederacy  there  are  forty-nine  tribes, 
each  one  having  a  government  of  its  own.  But  these  forty- 
nine  tribes  are  organized  in  such  a  manner  that  a  common 
government  is  provided  for  the  whole.  Now,  the  confed- 
eracy is  the  grand  unit,  the  tribes  are  units  of  a  second 
order.  But  the  clans  of  one  tribe  are  also  the  clans  of 
another,  so  that  each  clan  is  distributed  through  many 
tribes,  and  each  clan  has  a  government  of  its  own,  subsid- 
iary to  the  government  of  the  tribe,  and  again  subsidiary 
to  the  government  of  the  confederacy.  The  organization 
for  a  clan  is  woven  through  the  organization  for  a  tribe  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  make  the  constitution  of  the  state  com- 
plex. 

In  those  states  where  the  organizations  which  we  have 
here  called  corporations  are  highly  developed,  the  corpora- 
tions themselves  render  the  constitution  of  the  state  com- 
plex. ,  Church  organizations  do  not  run  parallel  with  state 
lines,  but  extend  their  operations  and  their  control  over 
their  own  members  regardless  of  political  divisions. 

All  states  that  have  been  studied  have  been  thus  found, 
both  compound  and  complex.  Such  are  the  essential  char- 
acteristics of  the  social  oroanization  of  mankind  into  states. 


(>l   I'llM^    ni     SIM  |(i|.i»(;y.  ').) 


THK  (;()VKKNMr.\T. 


Tlu'  (I  i  tic  re  lit  iat  ion  Iroin  tin-  .staU-of  an  organized  >y.stcm 
ot  iv<:;iilation  gives  rise  to  government.  If  a  condition  of 
society  (.on Id  exist  in  whieli  eaeli  member  in  the  state  should 
take  an  equal  and  like  part  with  all  the  others  in  the  regu- 
lation of  eondu<-t,  the  state  would  he  without  a  government 
in  the  sense  in  which  that  term  i>  here  us(^d  :  hut  in  iIk 
bodies  politii-  whieh  are  known  certain  individuals  arc 
selected  l>v  one  or  other  process  to  periorm  special  func- 
tions in  the  regulation  of  the  conduct  of  the  people  com- 
posing the  state.  The  government  is  tlu-  sociologic  organ 
differentiated  from  the  state  for  the  regulation  of  conduct. 

The  function'^  to  he  performed  by  a  government  are  of 
three  clas.scs — legislative,  executive,  and  judi'ial — lor  if 
conduct  is  to  be  regulated  it  is  necessary — 

First,  to  determine  in  what  ])articulars,  and  to  establish 
the  rules.  This  gives  the  law-making  i)Owei'.  which  will 
here  be  denominated  the  Iq/islatiir  dei)artment. 

Second,  it  is  necessary  to  provide  macliinery  for  the  en- 
forcement of  the  law.  This  i<  hi-rc  denominated  the  cxccn- 
(ivc  department. 

Third,  in  society  the  parti<ulars  of  conduct  and  the  rela- 
tions of  conduct  are  va.stly  multifarious,  approaching  infinity. 
The  formulated  rules  of  conduct — the  law — can  never  keej> 
pace  with  con<luct  itself,  .^o  that  every  specific  act  of  social 
life  shall  have  its  corresponding  fornnilated  iide.  It  is  there- 
fore necessary  that  the  general  rules  embraced  in  the  lawl)e 
interpreteil  and  a|)plied  to  the  specific  act.  This  is  usually 
done  by  tlie  individual,  who  is  sujiposed  and  whose 
duty  it  is,  to  know  the  laws  of  the  .state  ;  but  the  individual 
may  yet  have  imperfect  knowledge.  Yet  liis  conduct  as  a 
meml)er  of  the  body  jiolitic  has  its  efiect  upon  others  wiio 
themselves  may  have  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  law  and 
its  application  to  specific  acts.  This  imperfection  of  knowl- 
edge necessitates  an  interj)retation  of  the  law. 

Again,  bias  of  interest,  bias  of  prejudice,  and  bias  of  pas- 
sion— all   have  their  effect  in  m<Mlityinu  indixidu.d  opinion 


(')()  SATURDAY    LECTIKES. 

relating  to  the  law.  Under  these  circumstances,  it  is  found 
necessary  for  the  state  to  devise,  as  a  part  of  its  govern- 
ment, some  organ  for  the  interpretation  of  the  law  in  its  ap- 
plication to  specific  acts.  This  gives  rise  to  the  judicial  de- 
partment of  government. 

These  three  great  functions  have  never  been  clearly 
differentiated  in  the  organization  of  a  government ;  but  the 
distinctions  have  usually  been  perceived  and  a  partial 
differentiation  of  organs  is  ever  found. 

In  the  constitution  of  the.  state,  it  has  been  seen,  three 
grand  classes  arise — the  civil,  the  military,  and  the  religious. 
Wherever  in  the  state  sitch  classes  appear,  the  form  of  gov- 
ernment is  adapted  to  the  regulation  which  the  constitution 
of  the  state  demands,  and  in  this  manner  the  functions  of 
government  may  be  classified  as  civil,  militarj'',  and  religi- 
ous— ^the  military  government  inhering  in  the  arm}',  the 
religious  government  in  the  priesthood — and  armies  and 
jjriesthoods  are  constituent  parts  of  such  governments. 

Usuall}'  in  all  stages  of  society,  military  government  is 
entire!}'  subordinate  to  civil  government,  but  there  are 
times  in  the  middle  stages  of  society  when  the  military  gov- 
ernment assumes  inordinate  proportions,  so  that  the  civil 
government  becomes  subsidiary  thereto ;  but  such  military 
governments  performing  civil  functions  are  ei^hemeral. 

Again,  in  the  constitution  of  the  state,  religious  organiza- 
tions invariably  constitute  an  important  factor.  In  the  low- 
est tribes  a  priesthood  is  a  part  of  the  government.  In 
certain  stages  of  society  a  priesthood  sometimes  acquires  in- 
ordinate j)Owers,  and  ecclesiastical  or  religious  governments 
are  organized ;  but  such  governments  arise  only  occasionall}^ 
and  are  ephemeral. 

In  the  constitution  of  the  state  two  classes  of  organiza- 
tions are  found — those  relating  directly  to  the  government, 
called  the  major  organizations,  and  those  relating  indirectly 
to  the  government,  called  the  minor  organizations,  or  corpo- 
rations, and  each  corporation  develops  from  its  own  body 
of  members  a  government  of  its  own,  through  which,  in 
part,  it  is  related  to  the  government  of  the  state,  and  to 


<»ri'i.iM:s  tii-   siKidi.odv.  ii7 

other  i>rLi;iiii/.;it  ioiis  n|'  tlif  miiKtr  i-lass.  Tlicsc  minor 
ortjaiiiziitioii"^  an'  al>o  idalcfl  |o  tlic  ^ovciimiciil  of  (Ik- 
slate,  and  to  (>acli  other  directly  lliroiiiili  llie  indivi(hials  ol 
w  hieh  thov  are  eoiiiposed. 

<  loverinnenl  is  the  specialized  oruaii  lor  the  leL^iilation  of 
th(>  conchiet  oi  tlie  iiulividuals  of  the  state,  and  is  lunction- 
ally  divided  into  the  h'uishilive.  e\ecnti\'e.  and  judicial  de- 
{•ai'tments,  with  a  still  I'lirlliei  runction.-d  di\i>ion  nniinni;- 
throui^li  llieso  _u,ivini;'  eivil.  military,  and  religious  go verji- 
nient.  To  the  government  ot"  llio  state,  in  its  several  units 
and  classes,  the  government  of  eorporations  is  subsidiary 
and  obedient. 

Tin:  i..\w. 

The  law. is  composed  of  the  rides  ot"  conduct  which  the 
government  endeavors  It)  enforce.  These  rules  of  conduct 
control  the  individuals  of  the  state  in  their  relations  to  each 
other.  Conduct,  in  its  relation  to  the  individuals  involved, 
is  either  directly  or  indirectly  jjcrsonal.  Conduct  may  be 
<lirectly  personal  in  its  I'elations  to  two  or  more  individuals, 
or  it  may  be  indirectly  ])ersonal  in  that  it  afi'ects  the  rela- 
tions of  the  individuals  through  the  medium  of  property. 
The  lu'st  gives  ri.se  to  what  J  shall  <lenoniinate  pergonal  law, 
the  sccoikI  io  propryfi/  law. 

Again,  in  the  organization  of  the  l>ody  politic,  minor 
bodies  have  been  d,escribe(l,  an<l  designated  as  corporation.^, 
including  in  the  term  all  bodies  jtoliticof  the  minor  class, 2. f., 
all  jirivate  corporations  as  distinct  from  municipal  or  govern- 
ment corj)orations.  The  relations  of  in<lividuals  to  each 
other,  as  members  of  a  coi-poration,  aie  controlled  by  tiie 
corporations  them.selves  in  their  organized  capacities,  but 
these  regulations  nmst  conform  to  the  law  of  the  .state,  and 
are  ultimately  relegated  for  their  enforcement  to  the  govern- 
ment. But  the  control  of  corporations  in  their  relations  to 
each  other,  in  their  relations  to  the  government,  and  in 
their  relations  to  tlie  indivi<luals  of  the  stat(>,  gives  rise  to  a 
body  of  corporatio'ii  law. 

Again,  since  government  is  diU'eicnti.ited  .is  the  organ  of 


08  SATIUDAY    i.ixTrr.E?. 

reiiulation.  the  organ  itself  must  be  controlled — the  con- 
duct of  the  government  must  be  regulated.  This  gives  rise 
to  what  I  shall  denominate  government  law. 

It  has  been  seen  that  the  conduct  of  a  state,  and  of  the 
individuals  of  a  state,  has  relation  to  other  states.  The  rules 
for  the  regulation  of  this  conduct  gives  rise  to  international 
law. 

As  no  common  government  exists  between  states  to  en- 
force international  law,  armies  are  organized,  and  for  the 
regulation  of  their  conduct  militar}/  law  is  developed. 

The  conduct  relating  to  the  relation  which  exists  between 
men  and  deity  gives  rise  to  the  organization  of  ecclesiastical 
bodies.  For  the  government  of  these  bodies,  and  for  the  en- 
ibrcement  of  the  rules  of  conduct  which  religion  imposes, 
religious  law  appears. 

Tlie  law,  then,  which  is  the  bod}^  of  rules  which  the  state 
endeavors  directly  or  indirectly  to  enforce,  may  be  properly 
classed,  as  follows : 

1.  Personal  law. 

2.  Property  law. 

3.  Corporation  law. 

4.  Government  law. 

5.  International  law. 

6.  Military  laAv. 

7.  Peligious  laAv. 

In  addition  to  this  classification  of  law  on  the  basis  of 
the  particulars  of  conduct  to  be  controlled,  another  funda- 
mental classification  is  found  running  through  and  inter- 
woven with  each  of  the  others.  This  classification  de- 
pends upon  the  method  l)y  which  regulation  is  accom- 
plished. General  rules  of  conthict  are  established,  and 
these  general  rules  are  applied  to  specilic  acts.  Thus  duties 
and  rights,  or  rights  active  and  passive,  are  determined. 
Usually,  to  these  rules  determining  rights,  the  individuals 
of  the  state  conform  their  conduct;  but  to  an  important  ex- 
tent they  do  not.  To  the  extent  that  conduct  is  conforma- 
tory  to  the  law,  right  is  done ;  to  the  extent  that  conduct  is 


nril.lNKS    or    SOiKH.tiiJY.  'il> 

iiut  ill  (•(inrniiiiily  wiili  llic  l;iw,  wntii^  i>  iIoih'.  Now,  ^ov- 
cniiiu'iit  tluc'S  not  att(iiii»t  to  control  comluct  l)y  <lirc'ctly  en- 
Jorcinij  liiilit-doiiin.  hut  indirectly,  l>y  punishin;;-  wroni;- 
<loin,ii-,  and  this  oivcs  rise  to  a  hody  of  hiws  rchitinu-  t(» 
wrongs  which  may  he  designated  as  rrlDiinal  hiw. 

Crimes  may  l>e  committi'd  aij;ainst  pcM'^onal  law,  pro|Mri  \ 
law.  <-orj)oratioii    law.  iioveriiiiiciit    law.   iiiti'inational    law, 
military  law.  and  itliuioiis  law:  so  thai  the  classilication  of 
law  relating  to  rights  and  duties  furnishes  the  proper  basis 
for  the  classilication  of  law  relating   to  wrongs,  i.  c.  crime.s. 

(•<»iKsi-:  OI-"  i:vni.ri  io\  m-  ini-;  sr.vn:. 

In  considering  the  particulars  of  conduct  that  states  have 
attempted  to  regulate  we  lind  they  can  be  classified  on  still 
anotlier  basis  than  that  presented  in  considering  the  subject 
of  law.  Conduct  may  relate  to  the  perpetuation  of  the 
species,  or  conduct  may  relate  to  the  welfare  of  the  in- 
dividual. Though  this  cla.ssilication  serves  no  imi)ortant 
j)uri>ose  in  the  study  of  the  subject  of  laM',  yet  it  is  necessary 
in  considering  the  constitution  of  the  state  and  tlie  form  of 
the  government. 

Tn  the  earlier  and  lower  stages  of  .society  conduct  relating 
to  the  perpetuation  of  the  species  is  held  to  be  of  ])rimary 
importance,  while  conduct  relating  to  the  welfare  of  in- 
dividuals is  held  to  be  of  .secondar}^  importance,  in  such  ;i 
manner  that  the  organization  of  the  state  is  based  i)rimarily 
on  the  former  and  secondarily  on  the  latter. 

In  the  periKHuation  of  the  species  the  functions  of  re- 
production are  dependent  ujton  the  biologic  organization  of 
mankind,  dividing  the  human  race  into  two  classes — male 
and  female — and  the  very  earliest  states  yet  discovered  have 
their  ])lans  of  organization  based  on  sex.  and  <om|»osed  of 
cla.«siticd  bodies  of  kindred. 

This  maybe  stat<<l  in  jinothcr  way.  In  the  earliest  forms 
of  societv  conduct  involving  tlu;  relations  of  the  sexes  an<l 
the  relations  of  kindred  arising  therefn»m  was  first  brought 
under  regulation.  The  primary  and  principal  .source  of 
disagreement  among  primitive  men  at  the  incej)tion  of  oi- 


70  SATUKDAV    IJJCTUItES. 

ganized  society  grew  out  of  their  desires  for  the  possession  of 
women.  Men  first  came  into  conflict  with  each  other  on 
account  of  women,  and  to  live  together  in  peace  it  became 
necessary  to  organize  government  and  enact  law  regulating 
marriage  and  kinship  relations  arising  therefrom. 

The  government  and  the  law  relate  i)rimarily  to  kinship, 
regulating  the  relation  of  the  sexes,  and  the  relation  of  the 
several  members  of  bodies  of  kindred;  that  is,  the  state  is 
organized  on  kinship.  Governmental  functions  are  per- 
formed by  men  wliose  positions  in  the  government  are 
determined  b}^  kinship,  and  rules  relating  to  kinship  and 
the  reproduction  of  the  species  constitute  the  larger  body  of 
the  law.  The  law  regulates  marriage  and  the  rights  and 
duties  of  the  several  members  of  a  body  of  kindred  to  each 
other.  Individuals  are  held  responsible  only  to  their  kin- 
dred, and  certain  groups  of  kindred  are  held  responsible  to 
other  groups  of  kindred.  When  other  conduct,  such  as  the 
distribution  of  game  taken  from  the  forest  or  fisli  from  the 
sea  is  regulated,  the  rules  or  laws  pertaining  thereto  involve 
considerations  of  kinshij),  and  this  is  extended  so  far  that  a 
large  body  of  rights  to  property  are  kinship  rights.  In  this 
manner  all  the  earlier  forms  of  the  state  of  which  we  have 
knowledge  are  based  on  kinship.  This  gives  us  kinship 
societ}^  and  tribal  government. 

In  the  highest  forms  of  social  organization  discovered  in 
the  nations  of  civilization  the  regulation  of  conduct  discov- 
ered in  the  government  and  the  law.  relates  chiefly  and  pri- 
marily to  the  welfare  of  the  individual,  and  secondarily  to 
the  perpetuation  of  the  species;  and  of  the  conduct  relating 
to  the  welfare  of  the  individual  that  which  relates  to  prop- 
erty has  an  overwhelming  predominance. 

In  the  earliest  stages  of  society  small  wealth  is  accumu- 
lated, and  industries  for  the  production  of  property  and 
Avealth  are  comparatively  undeveloped.  In  the  higher 
stages  of  society  greatly  accumulated  wealth  is  found,  and 
industries  are  differentiated  and  industrial  organizations 
multiplied  beyond  all  others.  As  therefore  the  organs  of 
government   must  be  adapted   to  its  functions,  the  plan  of 


oi  ri,iNi;s  OK  S(>ci(>[.<»(;Y.  71 

government  in  such  ti  state  must  be  based  upon  [tioperty. 
Thus  property,  society,  and  national  uovcinincnt  are  consti- 
tuted. 

In  kinship  states  the  I'unihiniental  chissification  of  tlie 
people  for  the  purposes  of  govennnent  is  by  kindred  :  in  the 
projierty  state  tlie  fundamental  classification  of  people  for 
purposes  of  government  is  by  territory.  Between  these 
staiTcs — the  lowest  and  the  highest — many  interme<liate 
forms  are  found.  No  hard  and  fast  lines  can  be  drawn.  A 
cli-ar  distinction  can  be  made  only  between  the  lowest  and 
the  hijihest.  Survivals  of  kinship  societv  exist  in  all  gov- 
crnments  where  i»osition,  i.  e.  office,  in  the  government  is 
hereditary,  and  property  society  with  the  government  of  the 
highest  civiHzation  is  reached  only  by  republics.  The  his- 
tory of  the  constitution  of  the  state  is  the  history  of  the 
evolution  of  kinship  society  into  property  society. 

There  is  yet  another  way  by  which  this  evolution  may  be 
characterized,  namely,  by  the  progressing  differentiation  of 
the  organs  of  the  state,  and  by  the  }>rogressing  integrations 
of  states. 

The  differentiation  of  organs  in   the  state  is  represented 

in  three  ways — 

First,  by  the  multiplication  of  organs  of  government — a 
subject  which  will  be  considered  under  the  head  of  govern- 
ment : 

Second,  by  the  multiplication  of  the  orders  of  units  and 
the  specialization  of  the  subordinate  units  so  that  subordi- 
nate organizations  i)erform  special  functions.  Thus  cities 
may  be  divided  into  wards,  counties  into  towns :  and 

Third,  by  the  multiplication  of  corporations  for  specific 
purposes.  Such  organizations  appear  in  the  lowest  .stages 
of  society  only  in  a  crude  form,  but  as  society  advances 
they  are  perfected,  and  greatly  multiplied,  until  in  modern 
civilized  society  a  state  becomes  a  va.st  plexus  of  cor[)ora- 
tions. 

In  the  earlier  stages  of  society  each  state  is  small,  being 
composed  only  of  a  body  of  kindred  by  consanguinity  and 
affinity,  actual  or  artificial.  As  each  .state  is  small  many 
states  are  Ibund.     In  order  that  unification  of  states  may  pro- 


72  SATIIIDAV     I.KCTIIIKS. 

gress  organization  l»y  kinsliij)  niu^t  give  way,  and  gradually 
it  does  give  way,  to  be  re])laced  ])y  organization  on  a  prop- 
erty basis.  Organization  on  a  jiropcrty  basis  appears  in 
many  ways,  but  chiefly  in  two — lirst,  ea])tives  in  war  and 
otlier  persons  ai'e  made  slaves,  and  become  property  them- 
selves; and,  second,  a  ]>articular  form  of  pn>[)crty — land — 
gradually  comes  to  be  of  prime  importance,  and  is  at  last 
taken  as  the  basis  of  the  primary  classification  of  the  state, 
which  is  territorial. 

By  various  jn'ocesses  of  alliance,  by  conquest,  by  develop- 
ment of  feudalities,  and  by  slavery,  states  are  integrated, 
and  by  the  development  of  the  organs  of  government  and 
private  corporations,  the  classes  of  the  state  are  differentiated, 
and  with  this  the  plan  of  the  state  is  changed  from  a  kin- 
ship to  a  property  basis. 

COURSE  (3F  INVOLUTION  OF  GOVERNMENT. 

The  earliest  form  of  government  of  which  we  have 
knowledge  consists  of  an  assembly  composed  of  men,  from 
>vhich  are  excluded  all  deemed  too  young  or  too  old  to  ex- 
hibit due  wisdom.  This  assembly  is  the  law-making  power, 
i.  c,  the  legislature,  and  the  law  applying  power,  i.  e.,  the 
court.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  body  of  able  men  meeting  to  confer 
and  decide  upon  conduct,  and  is  essentially  legislature  and 
judiciary  undifferentiated.  This  assembly  has  a  presiding 
officer  who  obtains  the  position  by  common  consent  or  for- 
mal choice,  and  who  sometimes  acts  as  an  executive  officer 
in  carrying  out  the  decisions  of  the  assembly.  But  this 
executive  power,  though  it  may  sometimes,  does  not  invari- 
ably inhere  in  the  presiding  officer. 

Sometimes,  and  perhaps  usually,  the  executive  power  is 
delegated  to  a  committee  of  the  assembly.  The  committee 
may  be  appointed  temjwrarily  to  carry  out  a  specific  deter- 
mination of  the  assembly,  or  it  may  be  a  standing  com- 
mittee to  carry  out  a  class  of  determinations.  The  form 
of  government  thus  described  probably  exists  at  present 
in  some  of  the  tribes  of  Australia  and  elsewhere,  as  such 
accounts  are  given  by  travelers  and  students  of  ethnol- 


()ITI.im;s  iti'  s(>(  Kn.oiiY.  73 

ogy ;  l>ut  those  aiToiints  ,uc  ini()iii|ilctc.  :iii<l  have  been 
niadi'  l>y  |)ersons  iidI  tlioiuii^lily  ti-aino(l  in  this  hrancli  of 
anthiojtologic  rt'.sfai\li,  s(»  that  altojjctlicr  \\\v  existence  ol" 
siu-h  a  «j[Overnmont  is  at  present  uncertain.  It  is  also  prolj- 
able  that  this  Inrni  of  ^ovcinnient  has  existed  in  })ast  times 
anions;  tribes  whu  have  ni»\v  atlvanced  l)eyond  it.  Tlir  lino 
ot"  aruunient  i»n  wliich  this  is  based  eannot  hen'  lir  |»re- 
sente(l,  and  it  i-  but  fair  to  say  that  |iositi\"c  concln.-iKns 
have  not  Iteen  readied. 

A  somewhat  hiiiher  form  of  ( iovcrnmeiit  has  been  dis- 
covered in  Anieiiea  and  eUewiierc  wldeli  may  l)e  more 
thorouiihly  describe<l.  in  tbi-  the  assembly  of  the  })eo[)le 
is  more  definitely  organizetL  The  [tresiding  officer  is  Ibrni- 
ally  selected,  and  his  tenure  of  office  is  for  life,  unless  other- 
wise formally  determined  by  the  asseml)ly  for  cause.  In 
addition  to  this,  a  chief  or  system  of  ehiefs  is  found  whose 
duties  are  executive.  The  chief  is  also  a  member  of  the  as- 
sembly, but  is  not  a  chief  Ijy  virtue  of  such  membership  but 
by  choice  of  the  p(^ople.  The  chieftaincy  is  never  here- 
ditary. 

In  the  UK^st  highly  developed  governments  the  three 
great  classifications  of  governmental  functions  are  highly, 
though  not  comjjletely,  dilferentiated,  giving  rise  to  legisla- 
tive, executive,  and  judicial  departments,  represented  by  the 
asscmbb/,  the  ruler,  and  the  court. 

The  a.ssembly  itself  is  elaborately  organized  and  tlillercn- 
tiated  into  two  or  more  correlated  divisions.  I'^xecutive 
functions  are  highly  differentiated  and  distributed  among 
various  cla-^ses  of  officers  over  wliom  the  ruler  [>resides.  The 
judicial  functions  jtlso  are  differentiated,  and  su})erior  and 
subordinate  courts  are  organized.  fJetween  the  two  forms 
thus  described,  many  intermediati!  forms  are<li.<covered,  and 
the  course  of  progress  is  waywaid  and  various.  In  the  ear- 
lier part  of  this  course,  Jufhcial  function-^  are  to  ;i  gi-eater  or 
less  extent  assumed  by  the  executive,  anil  Ibr  a  long  time 
this  division  of  the  functions  of  the  couit  between  the  two 
departments  of  government  continues — being  clainnil,  now 
by  one,  now  by  the  other.     .\t   tinie<.  too.  in   the  course  of 


74  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

progress,  legislative  functions  are  assumed  by  the  executive 
department,  and  a  conflict  is  waged  for  supremacy.  At 
last,  by  various  processes,  the  court  is  organized. 

Three  of  these  processes  must  here  be  mentioned.  As 
states  increase  in  size  the  business  of  adjudication  becomes 
so  great  that  proper  attention  cannot  be  given  to  the  mul- 
tiplicity of  cases  arising.  Under  these  circumstances  com- 
mittees of  the  assembly  are  appointed  with  judicial  powers, 
at  first  extremely  limited  but  gradually  enlarged,  until 
courts  are  developed.  On  the  other  hand,  where  judicial 
power  has  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  been  assumed  by  the 
executive  department,  the  rulers  find  themselves  over- 
whelmed with  business  and  appoint  subordinates  in  the  first 
instance  to  adjudicate  specific  cases,  but  gradually  the  powers 
of  these  subordinates  are  enlarged,  until  courts  are  thus 
established. 

Again,  ecclesiastical  bodies  claiming  superior  virtue  and 
wisdom  sometimes  assume  to  adjudicate,  but  such  adjudica- 
tion is  gradually  relegated  to  specified  officers  of  the  body, 
•  and  thus  ecclesiastical  courts  are  developed. 

The  courts  originating  from  the  assembly  from  the  ruler 
and  from  the  ecclesiastical  body  alike,  may  be  more  or  less 
multifarious.  When  they  spring  up  in  the  same  state  their 
jurisdiction  is  at  first  imperfectly  defined.  Each  strives 
for  supremacy,  and  thus  jurisdiction  overlaps  jurisdiction. 
This  conflict  ultimately  results  in  the  organization  of  a  S3's- 
tem  of  courts  integrated  in  a  superior  court,  and  differen- 
tiated by  the  establishment  of  a  variety  of  inferior  courts 
with  jurisdiction  more  carefully  defined — the  function  of  tlie 
inferior  courts  being  controlled  and  restricted  within  proper 
bounds  by  appeal  to  the  superior. 

Thus,  at  last,  the  functions  of  the  primitive  assembly, 
originally  legislative,  executive,  and  judicial,  are  differen- 
tiated, and  the  legislature,  the  ruler,  and  the  court  are 
established. 

THE  COURSE  OF  EVOLUTION  OF  LAW. 

In  the  development  of  the  tribe  into  the  nation,  conduct 
develops  from  extreme  simplicity  to  extreme  complexity, 


OLTI.INKS    OF   riO('IOI,0<;Y.  <•> 

and  tor  the  ivirulatioii  of  ruiKliict  tin-  hnv  iiiu~(  likfwiso  de- 
velop. 

PERSONAL  LAW 

A  liirge  part  of  pergonal  law  lM'lonp;s  to  family  law.  Per- 
haps the  earliest  and  lowest  form  ((f  the  family  is  that  in 
which  brothers  in  a  uroup  marry  their  own  sisters  in  a 
irroup  :  all  the  brothers  are  the  liii<bniid>  <>f  all  the  sisters. 
The  family  i^  thus  eonipo.><ed  of  husbands  an»l  wives,  parent- 
and  children.  <rrand  parents  an<l  grand  children  and  brother.- 
and  sisters.  Collateral  lines  of  kinship  are  not  established. 
There  are  no  uncles  and  aunts,  no  male  cousins  and  no  ie- 
male  cousins,  and  no  nephews  and  neices.  This  is  known 
as  the  Punaluan  family  or  system  of  kinship. 

-Vnothor  form,  known  as  the  Malayan  family  or  system  of 
kinship,  is  found  involvintr  a  larger  tribe  and  a  higher  or- 
gani/.atiftn.  In  this,  a  group  of  men  being  brothers,  marry  a 
group  of  women,  sisters  to  each  other,  but  not  sisters  to  the 
men  whom  they  marry.  For  the  regulation  of  this  form  of 
communal  ma.  viage.  a  tribe  is  divided  into  clas.ses.  Often 
there  an  three  classes  wliieh  are  divided  into  male  and  fe- 
male— making  in  all.  six.  Let  the.se  be  represented  by  let- 
ters :  A  represents  a  male  cla.ss,  and  A'  a  femaU'  class.  The 
class  A  are  brothers  and  the  class  A'  are  sisters.  B  repre- 
sents a  class,  and  IV  a  class,  brothers  and  sisters;  and  C  and 
C  are  like  clas.ses.  Then  the  class  A,  beinu  brothers  to 
each  other,  may  not  marry  their  sisters  A',  but  marry  the 
lias-  nf  women  IV  who' are  sisters  to  each  otiier.  The 
.lass  II  marry  the  class  C,  and  the  cla.ss  C  marry  the  class 
.v.  Now.  in  tiiis  family,  di'scent  is  in  the  female  line.  The 
.  hildnn  then  of  A  and  B'  will  belong  to  the  class  liand  B'. 
the  (  hildren  of  B  an<l  ( ''  will  belong  to  the  class  ('  and  C. 
and  the  children  of  ("  and  A'  will  belong  to  the  class  A  and 
A',  and  through  tht»se  cycles  the  generations  pass. 

The  kinship  .system  is  furthei-  developed  in  this  family, 
and  gives  brothers  and  sisters,  fathers  and  mothers,  sons  and 
daughters,  grandfathers  and  grandm<iih(  i.-.  and  grandsons 


76  SATUltDAV    l.i:(TrEES. 

and  (Uuightcrs.  It  also  gives  aunts  and  uncles.  The  children 
call  their  father  and  father's  brothers,  all  fathers,  and  their 
mother  and  mother's  sisters,  all  mothers ;  but  their  father's 
sisters  are  aunts,  and  their  mother's  brothers  are  uncles. 
The  children  of  their  father's  brothers  they  call  brothers, 
the  children  of  their  mother's  sisters  they  call  sisters ;  but 
the  children  of  their  father's  sisters  they  call  cousins,  and 
the  children  of  their  mother's  brothers  they  call  cousins. 

This  famil}^  is  widely  spread  in  Australia  and  elsewliere 
and  the  kinship  system  is  still  more  widely  spread  as  it  ex- 
ists among  all  the  tribes  of  North  and  South  America  and 
elsewhere  in  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,  and  in  some  of  the 
islands  of  the  sea. 

The  Punaluan  system  of  kinship  at  first  described  is 
known  to  exist,  but  the  form  of  communal  marriage  is  not 
known.  The  Malayan  system  of  kinship  and  marriage  is 
known.  " 

The  simplest  and  most  common  form  only  has  been  given. 

The  development  of  this  into  the  polj^gamic  and  mon- 
ogamic  systems  of  marriage  is  accomplished  in  diverse  ways 
among  many  tribes.  The  group  of  husbands  and  group  of 
wives  constituting  one  family  comes  to  be  very  large  and 
narrower  restrictions  are  adopted,  thus  boys  of  one  mother 
will  be  married  in  a  group  to  the  daughters  of  another 
mother,  and  various  other  restrictive  regulations  will  appear, 
but  all  involving  a  common  principle,  namely,  that  the 
husbands  and  wives  have  no  choice.  Selection  is  made  by 
legal  appointment.  Legal  appointment  develops  into  indi- 
vidual selection  through  three  processes  : 

First,  the  parties  interested  consulting  their  own  wishes, 
elope;  and  marriage  by  elopement  though  illegal  at  first, 
is  made  legal  on  the  day  of  jubilee.  This  procedure  widely 
prevails  among  the  North  American  Indians. 

Second,  it  ofttimes  happens  that  in  the  vicissitude  of  life 
certain  groups  of  families  of  sisters  increase  in  number, 
while  the  group  of  brothers  to  whom  they  belong  decrease 
in  number,  and  vice  versa.  Under  these  circumstances  a 
few  men  are  entitled  to  many  wives,  and  the  law  holds  this 


(•rii.iM;s  nv  s(K  loi.otiv.  <  i 

to  Ik-  justiff.  Ill  >urli  cjiH-  it  iiiav  li;i|>|Mii  tliat  a  man 
wlio  lu'loiius  to  a  laiur  male  liioup.  liav-iii^  riiilits  ol'  mar- 
riage in  a  small  IrmaN-  liioui).  will,  with  his  IViciids. 
rajiturc  a  initlr  liom  xhik-  larger  i:r<)U|»  iA'  women.  This 
is  always  ivsistcd.  and  conliict  i-nsues.  If  tiic  capturini; 
parly  succeed  the  law  then  holds  that  the  waiiare  was  tlie 
final  arhitrameni  an<I  the  controversy  ends:  and  if  the 
capturing  party  fail  (he  contest  nuisl.  in  like  manner,  cease. 

Third,  ^hlrria,^l'  l>v  capture  develops  into  a  third  form. 
A  man  heinii  entitled  to  mori'  than  one  woman  is  chal- 
lenticd  liy  a  man  who.  hy  the  vicissitudes  of  life  and 
death,  is  entitled  to  none,  and  the  ri^ht  to  a  woman  is  thus 
decided  by  wa<i,er  of  battle  l)etween  tlm  two  men  immedi- 
ately interested.  This  duel  is  gradually  reuulate<l  hy  law 
in  such  a  manner  tliat  fatal  results  do  not  ensue,  and  the 
conflict  ends  controver.sy,  and  thereafter  the  disputants  are, 
themselves,  friends. 

These  three  forms  of  marriaiic — by  elopement,  by  cap- 
ture, and  by  duel,  are  uradually  reGfulated,  and  come  to 
be  recoj^nized  as  legal,  and  so  communal  marriage  is 
developed  into  i)olygamic  and  monogamic  marriage;  and 
thus  by  a  long  i)rocess  the  Malayan  system  of  marriage  and 
the  ^hdayan  system  of  kinship  are  developed  into  the  mono- 
gamic family  and  kinship.  15ut  it  usually  happens  that  the 
.sy.stem  of  kinship  remains  longer  than  the  .system  of  mar- 
riage, that  is.  the  evolution  of  language  does  not  keep  pace 
with  the  evolution  of  customary  law,  so  we  find  many  tribes 
having  the  Malayan  .system  of  kinshij).  yet  not  having  the 
Malayan  .sy.stem  of  marriage,  but  having  jtolygamic  mar- 
riage, and  marriage  by  legal  appointment,  and  with  these 
marriage  by  elopement,  by  capture,  and  by  duel. 

In  the  family  law  of  very  early  society  we  discovered  that 
descent  is  in  the  female  line,  that  the  control  of  the 
children  belongs  to  the  mother  ami  hei-  consanguineal  kin- 
dred, and  that  the  fatluM-  and  his  kindred  have  no  e«jntrol 
over  the  family.  The  husband  is  but  the  guest  of  the  wife 
an<l  her  friends. 

During  the  process  of  develoj>ment  from  conununal  mar- 
riage, and  the  system  of  kinship  involved,  to  monogamic 


78  SATURDAY    LK(:TUiU-:S. 

marriage  and  its  system  of  kinship,  a  change  from  descent 
in  the  female  to  descent  in  the  male  line  occurs,  and  with 
this  change  the  control  of  the  family  is  relegated  to  the  hus- 
band and  father,  and  rapidly  this  control  becomes  absolute, 
and  the  patriarchal  family  is  established,  in  which  the  father 
has  power  of  life  and  death  over  his  wives  and  children  and 
all  their  descendants,  but  gradually  this  power  is  regulated 
by  law. 

A  method  by  which  descent  is  changed  from  the  female 
to  the  male  line,  that  is,  by  which  mother-right  is  changed 
to  father-right,  appears  among  the  North  American  Indians. 

When  the  gentes  of  which  a  tribe  is  composed  do  not  live 
in  a  compact  village  but  are  spread  over  a  large  area  of 
country,  so  that  each  gens  lives  alone  separated  b}^  miles  of 
distance  from  the  others,  the  consanguineal  relatives  of  the 
wives,  who  are  the  guardians  and  masters  of  the  family^  are 
not  present  and  cannot  exercise  control.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances authority  is  gradually  assumed  by  the  husbands 
and  the  line  of  descent  is  ultimately  changed.  There  may 
be  other  methods  by  which  this  change  is  made. 

PROPERTY  LAW. 

Property  law  is  naturally  divided  into  two  classes — prop- 
erty in  chattels  and  property  in  land. 

To  a  large  extent  in  primitive  society  chattel  property  is 
communal — owned  by  classes  or  clans,  but  a  few  articles, 
such  as  clothing,  ornaments,  some  implements  and  utensils 
are  owned  by  individuals,  yet  no  large  accumulation  of 
these  things  is  permitted  to  the  individual.  Under  these 
circumstances  barter  and  sale  are  clogged  because  individ- 
uals cannot  freely  exchange — the  consent  of  two  bodies  of 
persons  being  necessary  therefor.  As  industries  are  differ- 
entiated, that  is,  in  the  first  beginning  of  the  differentiation 
of  labor,  articles  are  exchanged  by  regulation — the  price  is 
always  the  legal  price.  Inheritance  is  by  clan,  not  from 
parent  to  child. 

In  the  progress  of  social  organization  communal  chattels 
become  personal  property.  Inheritance  by  clan  gradually 
becomes  inheritance  by  nearest  of  kin,  and,  finally,  wills  are 


OITI.INKS    OK    S()(lor,0(iV.  ~\) 

iuvfiitecl,  ami  inlicrilaiKi'  liv  dosigiiatioii  »»t"  th(>  ouiier  is 
(Icvtlopcd.  TIr'h  with  the  dcveloitnu'iit  of  inoncv,  barter 
is  changod  into  sale,  and  legally  lixed  price  by  certain  curi- 
ous processes  is  changed  into  competitive  price. 

In  the  most  }>rimitive  society  the  land  is  held  by  tlie 
state  and  used  only  as  a  hunting  ground,  or  as  the  source 
of  vegetal  food  naturally  grown  thereon  .  while  the  streams 
and  coasts  are  held  as  lisheries,-  but  where  rude  cultivation 
begins  very  small  areas  are  re<leemed,  and  usually  cultivated 
land  is  held  by  tribe  or  dan.  Thus,  tenure  to  cultivated 
land  is  communal. 

Communal  ownershij)  is  gradually  developed  into  owner- 
ship'in  severalty  by  a  variety  of  processes  interesting  in 
themselves,  but  multifarious  and  complex,  so  that  the  sub- 
ject may  not  here  be  treated  at  large. 

With  tlie  change  in  the  character  of  tenure  to  property 
from  communal  to  individual  ownership),  there  grows  up  a 
large  body  of  law  relating  to  contract. 

[The  consideration  of  the  evolution  of  corporation  law  is 
omitted.] 

GOVERNMENT  LAW. 

In  lower  tribes,  government  law  consists  of  a  few  simple 
rules,  regulating  the  mannerof  calling  the  assembly,  the  order 
of  deliberation,  and  the  method  of  announcing  the  decision^ 
while  the  chief  or  committee  executes  the  law  in  obedience 
to  a  few  e([ually  simple  rules.  In  higher  nations,  where 
the  legislature,  the  ruler  and  the  court  appear,  government 
law  is  greatly  elaborated.  The  legi.slature  is  organized  by 
processes  provided  by  law,  and  controlled  by  organic  or  con- 
stitutional law,  and  a  body  of  [Xirliamentary  law  is  devel- 
oped regidating  its  method  of  proceedure.  The  executive 
department  is  governed  by  organic  law,  by  law  emana- 
ting from  the  legislature  and  i)y  a  large  body  of  rules  origi- 
nating within  itself  The  judicial  department  is  also  con- 
trolled by  organic  law,  by  directory  laws  emanating  from 
the  legislature,  and  by  the  rules  of  the  court,  involving  a 
complex  .system  of  procedure.  From  such  simplicity  to 
such  complexity  <lo  we  arrive  l»y  the  proce.s.ses  of  evolution. 


80  SATUKDAY    J.KCTURES. 

CRIMINAL  LAW. 

Of  crimes  resulting  from  the  regulation  of  the  relations  of 
the  sexes,  marriage  within  the  prescribed  group  is  held  to 
be  the  most  heinous  in  primitive  society.  It  is  never  con- 
doned, never  compounded.  Infidelit}'  after  marriage  may 
be  condoned  or  compounded. 

Crimes  relating  to  i)ersonal  injuries  include  murder 
maiming,  and  slander.  Murder  may  be  punished  by  the 
taking  of  life — not  necessarily  the  life  of  the  murderer,  but 
one  of  his  clan.  But  murder  may  be  compounded  and 
primitive  law  fixes  the  value  of  individuals  according  to 
sex  and  rank.  Murder  may  be  atoned  for  b}^  substitution, 
that  is,  the  murdered  man  may  be  expatriated,  driven  from 
his  family,  and  thus  become  dead  to  his  own  people,  and 
then  he  may  be  adopted  by  the  injured  famil}-  and  made  to 
replace  the  murdered  person.  Thus  the  wife  of  the  mur- 
dered man  may  adopt  the  murderer  for  her  husband,  and, 
in  so  doing,  he  loses  his  own  name  and  all  relations  of  kin- 
ship, and  accepts  the  name  and  kinship  relations  of  the 
murdered  man. 

Maiming  is  punished  by  maiming — "  an  eye  for  an  eye 
and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth  " — and  maiming  may  be  compounded, 
and  the  value  of  the  several  parts  of  the  bodv  is  specified 
by  law. 

Slander  is  punished  the  same  as  the  crime  alleged  in  the 
slander,  and  slander  may  be  pleaded  as  a  justifying  cause 
for  murder  and  maiming;  slander  may  also  be  compounded. 

In  primitive  society  by  far  the  largest  body  of  crimes  is 
included  under  the  practice  of  witchcraft,  and  this  is  ter- 
ribly punished.  Abnormal  conditions  of  body,  aberrations 
of  mind,  and  infelicities  of  temper  are  all  interpreted  as  ev- 
idences that  the  possessors  thereof  are  uncanny  j^eople,  and 
to  a  large  extent  deafness  and  blindness  before  old  age  from 
causes  that  cannot  be  readily  understood,  and  all  loathsome 
or  strange  diseases  are  likely  to  be  attributed  to  sorcery,  so 
that  the  practice  of  witchcraft  is  everywhere  believed  in, 
and  witches  and  wizards  are  multiplied.  Witchcraft  is 
punished  by  death,  but  after  conviction  in  the  court,  ap- 


oiri.iNKs  or  socioi.ixiY.  81 

peal  1«»  sui»riiialunil   (lf(isii>ii  is  always  ju-rmittod,  and  tluis 
we  liavo  tlir  (»riuiii  ot"  trial  by  ordeal. 

Ci-iininal  law  in  tin-  lii,i,dii.'r  stay;(.'s  of  society  need  not  l)f 
(.•liamtterized,  l>ut  certain  lines  of  evolution  may  be  pointed 
out.  The  «;roui>s  in  wliieli  marriage  is  proliibited,  Ki^''"K 
rise  to  the  erime  of  incest,  change  from  artificial  groups  to 
groups  cofistituted  by  degrees  of  consanguineal  kinship, 
male  and  female.  Thus  ela.ssifications  by  artificial  and 
analogous  characteristics  give  place  to  ela.ssifications  by  os- 
.>;ential  and  homologic  characteristics.  CJradually  too,  in 
the  progress  of  society,  from  the  earliest  to  the  latest  stages, 
the  motive  of  the  murderer  is  considered,  and  accidental 
killing  antl  maiming  are  ditierentiated  from  willful  murder 
and  other  personal  injuries,  and  such  willful  injuries  being 
es.sential  crimes  are,  in  the  higher  stages  of  .society,  not  com- 
pounded or  atoned  for  by  substitution. 

In  the  crimes  which  come  from  the  unlawful  acquisition  of 
property  the  punishment  l)y  multi[)le  restitution  found  in 
the  lower  states  is  superseded  by  lines  which  go  to  the  state 
and  by  imprisonment.  In  the  lower  stages  of  society 
property  crimes  are  thefts  ;  in  the  higher  stages,  property 
crimes  are  thefts  and  frauds. 

In  the  lower  stages  of  society  a  large  body  of  the  crime 
is  witchcraft,  and  tins  gradually  disappears  with  the  progress 
of  culture.  It  should  be  noticed  that  in  early  society  there 
is  a  very  large  body  of  artificial  crimes — especially  those 
relating  to  .sorcery. 

Again,  there  is  a  large  body  of  such  artificial  crimes  re- 
lating to  })ersonal  injuries,  from  the  fact  that  willful  injury 
is  not  diflerentiated  Inuii  accidental  injury.  In  the  course 
of  evolution  such  artificial  crimes  are  eliminated  from  tin- 
law  :  on  the  other  hand,  by  reason  of  the  ever  increasing 
complexity  of  the  relations  of  men,  the  classes  of  real  crimes 
are  multiplied. 

There  is  yet  another  line  of  progress.  In  primitive  so- 
ciety two  i»rincii)les  are  found  to  exist  side  by  side  as  funda- 
mental theories  in  the  administration  of  the  law. 

The  first  is  that  ju.stice  nuist  be  dom — that  justice  which 
the  primitive  law  recognizes. 


82  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

The  second,  that  there  mu.st  be  end  to  controversy — that 
peace  may  prevail  and  society  be  not  disorganized;  and  this 
must  be  accompHshed  though  the  former  faih 

To  secure  end  to  controversy,  there  is  resort  to  two 
methods — 

First,  days  or  other  periods  of  jubilee  are  apjjointed  at 
which  all  crimes,  except  murder  and  incest,  afe  forgiven. 
In  the  lowest  societies  it  is  a  day  of  jubilee,  coming  once  a 
year ;  in  the  highest  societies,  it  is  a  year  of  jubilee,  coming 
at  longer  periods.  With  progressing  society  this  method  of 
ending  controversy  is  adopted  in  the  case  of  crimes  which 
are  manifestly  artificial  in  the  state  of  culture  to  which  the 
people  have  arrived,  and  by  this  means  willful  murder  is  at 
first  differentiated  from  accidental  killing. 

Still  another  method  of  terminating  controversy  and 
avoiding  punishment  for  artificial  crime,  is  provided  for  in 
the  establishment  of  cities  of  refuge. 

Now"  cities  of  refuge  come  to  be  such  in  a  curious  manner. 
In  the  early  history  of  mankind,  cities  are  states  and  auto- 
nomous; one  state  does  not  punish  the  crimes  committed  in 
another;  and  men  committing  crimes  flee  from  their  own 
states  to  others,  and  become  incorjoorated  therein  by  adop- 
tion, and  thus  secure  immunity  from  punishment. 

When  on  the  first  organization  of  nations,  two  or  more 
city-states  are  consolidated  and  placed  under  one  general 
government,  certain  cities  often  remain  as  places  of  refuge, 
but  with  an  important  restriction,  namely,  that  the  crimes 
belong  to  the  classes  which  have  been  here  described  as  arti- 
ficial. 

Tlius  days  of  jubilee  and  cities  of  refuge  are  important 
agencies  in  the  evolution  of  criminal  law. 

The  groAvth  of  law  in  its  entire  course  is  governed  in 
man}'  important  respects  bj^  the  theory  of  the  origin  of  law 
and  the  source  of  its  authority.  This  subject  involves  the 
discussion  of  the  evolution  of  philosoph}'^  and  cannot  now 
be  undertaken.  It  is  the  highest  and  most  important 
subject  with  which  the  mind  of  man  can  grapple,  as  it  in- 
volves the  whole  theory  of  human  conduct — the  ethics  of 
mankind. 


LITTLE  KNOWN  FACTS  A150UT  WELL  KNOWN  ANLMALS. 


Lecture  delivered    in   the  National   Musenni,  Washington,  I>.  C,  April  8,  1SS2, 
l.vProf.  C.  V.  RILEY. 


Lakiks  and  (  Jknti.kmkx  : 

It  lias  ali-ca<ly  bcfii  fxplaiiicil  tlial  those  locliin.'s  are  iii- 
triidt'd  to  i»oi»ularize  .science.  Major  Powell,  in  opening  the 
course,  very  well  remarked  that  to  treat  scientific  subjects  in 
such  manner  that  an  ordinary  audience  may  clearly  under- 
stand is  no  ea.sy  task.  Every  trade,  every  art,  every  pro- 
lessinn,  has  its  peculiar  vernacular,  without  which  it  cannot 
well  V)e  understood  or  communicated.  Condensed  techni- 
cality that  most  directly  ajjpeals  to  tjie  intelligence  of  the 
s[iecialist  is  hut  a  mist  to  becloud  the  average  understand- 
ing. Tyndall.  in  pliN^sical  science,  Agassiz  and  lluxley  in 
natural  lii>t<iry.  Troctor  in  asti'onomy.  and  several  of  our 
younger  American  scienti.sts,  in  various  de]iartments,  have, 
it  is  true,  of  late  years  demonstrated  that  science  may  be 
clearly  expounded  to  popular  audiences,  and  that  she  rather 
gains  in  attractiveness  by  being  disroljcd  of  as  much  as  possi- 
ble of  the  technicality  with  which  she  is  generally  enveloped  ; 
but  their  success  was  proportionate  to  their  substitution  of 
object  lessons,  experiments,  or  illustrations,  for  the  oidinarv 
tochnical  tools  of  the  under.standinir. 

Without  further  preface  I  .shall,  in  order  to  be  intelligible, 
choose  as  subjects  for  my  remarks  a  few  animals  with  which 
all  of  you  must  be  more  or  less  familiar  and  which  have  com- 
mon names,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  convey  to  you  Ijy  illus- 
tration the  meaning  of  such  uiiconniiou  terms  as  cannot 
well  be  avoided. 

To  begin,  let  us  go  to  the  ocean,  that  vasty  deep  which 
seems  so  desolate  and  yet  which  teems  with  curious  life 
maintained  only  by  fierce  incessant  warfare  that  makes  its 
bed  an  o.ssuary,  recording,  however  feebly,  the  life  it  had 
contained. 

Most  of  you  have  probably  been  on  the  ocean,  or  have 

S3 


84  SATURDAY    LECTUKES. 

■wandered  along  its  shores ;  but  I  will  lirst  speak  of  an  animal 
that  all  are  familiar  with  in  anv  event. 


THE  OYSTER. 

The  oyster  in  this  country  forms  one  of  the  most  common 
and  most  esteemed  articles  of  diet,  and  if  you  wish  to  get 
an  accurate  idea  of  the  vast  importance  of  the  oj^ster  indus- 
try, I  would  refer  you  to  Mr.  Ernest  Ingersoll's  report  recently 
issued  from  the  Census  Office.  How  many  persons,  while 
enjoying  their  oysters — stewed,  fried,  broiled,  scalloped,  or 
from  the  shell — ever  pause  to  consider  anything  but  the 
flavor?  How  many  dream  that  the  lifeless  and  almost 
shapeless  thing  so  grateful  to  their  palate  was  at  one  time 
a  free  and  active  creature,  swimming  about  in  the  ocean 
with  considerable  rapidity ! 

The  oyster  is  older  than  man.  Evolutionists  recognize 
that  stability  of  life-conditions  induces  permanency  of  t3'pe, 
and  as  the  conditions  under  which  the  oyster  lives  must 
have  prevailed  at  a  ver}^  early  period  of  the  Earth's  history 
we  find  that  the  fossil  shells  of  its  ancestors  are  scattered 
throughout  the  world  wherever  ancient  oceans  had  their 
shores,  while  they  particularly  abound  in  the  cretaceous 
formation.  Prof.  White,  curator  of  ^lollusca  in  this  mu- 
seum, has  kindly  loaned  me  some  fossil  forms  which  he 
finds  abounding  in  the  cretaceous  of  the  West.  The^^  do  not 
differ  materially  from  others  found  in  the  INIiocene,  and  you 
will  see  that  in  all  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  years 
that  have  passed  since  then,  while,  as  Prof.  Marsh,  has  so 
well  shown  us,  the  present  horse  was  evolving  through  the 
various  forms  of  Eohippus,  Orohippus,  Miohippus,  etc.,  from 
a  typically  five-toed  ancestor,  quite  unlike  its  present  self 
and  common  to  it  and  other  ungulate  mammals ;  while  other 
terrestial  animals  were  undergoing  like  mutations,  the  03'ster 
retained  essentiallv  the  same  form. 

However  much  they  ma}'  differ  in  size,  appearance  and 
flavor,  the  present  03' sters  of  North  America  are  all  referable 
to  one  species,  scientificall}'' known  as  Ostrea  virginiana  Lister, 


FACTS    Al'.ol    r    \\"i;i.l.    KNUW.N    ANIMALS. 


85 


while  tlial  of  luiropr  is  s|KrirRially  (lilUivul  and  known  as 
Ostrea  edulis  L. 


Fig.  I.  —  Gettealogy  of  the  hofsc :  /^Orohippus;   ,-,  Miohippii^;  </,  Pliohippus  ; 
(T,  Equus.     (After  Marsh. ) 

The  oyster  has  generally  been  considered  lieiinaphrodite, 
/.  (..  eonihining  both  sexes  in  one  individual ;  and  the 
young  are  said  to  be  at  first  hatched  and  then  [)rotected  inside 
the  mantle  cavity  of  the  i)areut.  Though  this  may  be  true 
of  the  Euro])ean  species,  Dr.  \V.  K.  Brooks,  of  Johns  Hop- 
kins Tniversity,  by  recent  admirable  researches,  has  clearly 
shown  that  our  American  oyster  has  tlic  sexes  separated 
antl  that  the  young  are  hatched  in  the  free  water,  and  have 
to  take  their  chance  without  parental  care  or  protection. 
Independence  is  of  quicker  development  in  this  free  coun- 
try as  well  in  the  oyster  as  in  man.  Without  going  into 
anatomical  details  I  would  state  that  what  we  know  as  the 
"  fat "  of  the  oyster  forms  the  reproductive  part.  The  milky 
llui<l  fidin  it,  in  a  gravid  female,  when  spread  out  in  a  thin 
tilm  will  ^how  innumerable  white  ovarian  specs,  even  with- 
out the  aid  of  a  microscope ;  while  that  iVom  a  well-devel- 
oj)ed  male  is  more  homogeneous  and  moic  adhesive.  This 
tluid  is  exj)elled  in  the  water  at  the  bree<]ing  season,  and 
the  egg,  once  adrift,  must  meet  a  male  cell  or  perish.  The 
average  number  of  (»va  produced  by  a  single  female  is  per- 
haps ten  millions,  and  a  large  sized  cme  may  produce  as 
many  as  sixty  millions.  So  you  can  imagine  at  what  an 
immense  rate  they  would  multiply  did  they  not,  in  the  egg 
state,  form  the  principal  food  of  hundreds  of  other  creatures; 
and  had  they  not,  in  all  stages  of  growth,  numerous  ene- 
mies. 

l*robablv  not  w\^^xv  than  one  in  -cveral    millions  reaches 


86 


SATUKDAY    Lia.'TURES. 


maturity.  In  nature  it  is  u  fundamental  principle  that  the 
individual  should  be  sacrificed  without  limit  to  secure  the 
good  and  perpetuity  of  the  race,  and  the  principle  might  be 
kept  in  mind  to  advantage  by  those  who  discuss  social  prob- 
lems that  concern  man. 


Fig.  2. —  Yoim<^  of  American  Oyster:  A,  surface  view  of  "spat"  at  first  swim- 
ming stage,  with'  external  opening  [d)  and  cilia;  B,  do.,  somewhat  older,  show- 
ing beginning  of  shell  (s)  ;  C,  dorsal  view  of  same  still  older,  showing  shell  {s)  much 
increased  in  size — all  highl)-  magnified.      (After  Ijrooks.) 

But  to  our  young  oyster.  Here  you  have  its  figure  (2) — a 
soft,  irregularly-shaped  object,  with  numerous  feelers  or  cilia,' 
by  rotating  which  it  swims  about  quite  rapidly.  These 
young  are  called  "spats"  or  "spawn"  by  fishermen,  and  they 
swim  about  till  they  come  in  contact  with  some  submarine 
body,  on  which  they  settle,  when  they  are  known  as  "  blis- 
ters." They  will  adhere  to  any  hard,  clean  object,  but  not 
to  mud  or  dirt.  No  sooner  is  the  young  oyster  fixed  than 
it  begins  to  elaborate  its  shell,  which  is  composed  chiefly  of 
carbonate  of  lime.  The  food  of  the  oyster  consists  of  va- 
rious minute  creatures,  such  as  diatoms,  rhizopods,  and  in- 
fusoria, wliicli  abound  everywhere  in  water  or  in  mud  at 
the  bottom  thereof. 

You  would  hardly  suppose  that  this  lymphatic  mass  was 
endowed  with  extreme  nervous  sensibilitv.    Yet  it  will  close 


FACTS    AIJOIT    WKI.I.    KNOWN    ANIMALS?.  >  ( 

its  slull  at  tilt"  sli«;lit(.'st  vil>rati(»ii  ami  dies  t'loiii  a  sudden 
jar,  so  that  a  loud  tliundti-<la|i  will  kill,  instantly,  a  whole 
hoat  loa<l.  TiuTe  is  nood  evidence  that  oysters  attain  the 
a.ue  ot"  thirty  years,  and  no  one  knows  how  nnich  l(jnii;er  they 
may  live. 

Knkmiks. — Prolilieaey  usually  decreases  as  we  descend  the 
scale  of  organic  life,  and  yet,  as  Darwin  has  forcil)ly  re- 
nuirke^,  oven  tlie  slow-l»reedinn- elei)iiant,  if  left  unchecked, 
wt)uld  soon  i)eoi>le  the  earth  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
animals.  Hence  all  creatures  have  enemies  of  one  kind  or 
another — checks  to  their  undue  multiplication.  The  oyster 
has  many  such.  In  the  free  swinnnini;  stage  the  young  are 
devoured  by  all  sorts  of  animals,  and  even  after  it  becomes 
fixed  it  is  preyed  upon  by  many,  while  others  are  truly  para- 
sitic, boring  or  drilling  holes  through  its  shell. 

Certain  sea-worms,  (Branch  Annelides,)  and  even  a  boring- 
sponge,  ( Cliona  mlpJiurea  Verrill,)  help  to  perforate  the  shell, 
while  small  boring  univalve  mollusks  belonging  to  its  own 
Branch  do  the  same  thing.  They  are  known  in  common 
laniiuace  as  '"  drills"  or  "  borers."  and  thev  work  l)v  means  of 
a  tongue  ribbon,  which  is  su[iplied  with  flinty  teeth.  The 
large  spiral  mollusks  known  l»y  the  names  of  '"winkle'"  and 
*'  conch,"  of  which  1  exhibit  an  example,  })rey  upon  the 
oyster  and  crush  its  shell  by  sheer  muscular  power  of  the 
large  ''  foot,"  by  which  they  grasp  it.  The  commonest  of 
these  is  Fiilgur  carica.  They  all  have  an  interesting  life-his- 
tory of  their  own,  but  I  have  time  only  to  show  you  the  curi- 
ous egg-cases  of  the  last  named  species,  which  many  of  you 
have  doubtless  found  cast  upon  the  beach,  strung  together 
as  they  are  in  a  series  of  itarchment-like  disks,  diminishing 
in  size  toward  either  end  of  the  string. 

There  is  one  enemy  of  the  oyster,  however,  which,  on 
account  of  its  great  destructiveness  and  its  universal  occur- 
rence along  the  seashore,  requires  more  than  a  pa.ssing 
notice.      1  allude  to  the — 

.STAK-IISII. 

Here  you  have  one  of  these  singular  creatures,  a  mere 
skeleton  of  its  former  plump  .self,  when  filled  with  water. 


88 


SATIKDAV    I,K(  '1  IJJKS. 


but  still  .showing  the  general  character  of  the  animal  with 
its  five  fingers  or  rays,  each  having,  in  a  median  groove 
beneath,  a  number  of  fleshy,  disc-tipped  tubes,  or  ambulacrse, 
^vhich  perform  the  function  of  feet,  and  with  its  central 
mouth,  a  mere  circular  opening.  The  common  star-fish  of 
the  Atlantic  coast  {listerias  vulgaris  Htimpson,'^  fig.  3)  is  the 


Si 


Fir 


Asfcrias  77i/<''i7r/s 


After  A.  Airassiz.'! 


most  destructive  to  the  oyster,  and  may  be  taken  as  a  type  of 
the  radiate  animals.  The  sexes  are  separate,  and  the  ova  are 
fertilized  in  the  water  just  as  are  those  of  the  oyster.  The 
analog}^  goes  yet  further,  for  the  young  starfish  bears  no 
resemblance  to  its  parent,  and  swims  about  by  means  of  ro- 
tating cilia.  At  first  it  is  a  mere  spherical  mass,  and  then  be- 
comes bilateral.  This  first  stage  is  known  as  the  Bvpinnaria 
stage,  (Fig.  4,  A,  B,  C,)  and  as  it  grows  older  a  series  of  arms 
develop  until  Ave  have  what  is  know^n  as  the  Brachiolaria 
stage,  (Fig.  4  D,)  a  name  given  to  it  when  its  real  character  was 
unknown,  a  bit  of  zoological  ignorance  which,  upon  com- 
paring these  figures  with  the  adult,  you  will  agree  with  me 
was  quite  excusable.     Those  who  are  curious  to  learn  more 


Asteracd7ithion  pallidiis  A.  Agassiz. 


FACTS    AlJori"    \Vi:i.I.    KNOWN     ANIMALS. 


SO 


of  tlie  woiuUirul  tiaii>rorinatious  wliidi  this  llnirJtloUwia  \n\- 
dergocs  should  lonsuU  the  niagnilicont  works  of  Alexander 
Agassi/,  on  the  subjert.  1  have  only  time  to  state  that  the 
star-fish  i)n)i)er  develops  on  the  ah-oral  end  of  the  larva, 
whieh  it  linally  absorbs,  and  that  the  adult  star-Hsh,  with 
its  long  arms,  is  not  developed  for  two  or  more  years,  the 
form  meanwhile  remaining  eonieal  or  disc-shaped. 


Fig.  4. — Diagramatic  view  of  young  Starfish :  A,  /»',  C,  Bipinnaria  stage  in 
different  ages;  D,  Braciiioiaria  stage.  (The black  lines  represent  ciliated  bands; 
the  shading  the  space  between  the  pnv-oral  and  post-oral  bands ;  w,  the  mouth; 
an  the  anus.     (After  Miiller. ) 

The  star-fish  swallows  the  younger  oysters  shell  and  all. 
and  after  the  soft  parts  are  absorbed  the  shell  is  cast  out  of 
the  stomach  by  eversion  :  but  older  oysters  are  not  so  easily 
managed.  To  tackle  one  the. star-fish  grasps  it  in  his  five 
arms  and  then  little  by  little  breaks  ofl'  the  margin  of  the 
shell  1>y  the  muscles  at  the  entrance  of  his  stomach,  and 
when  a  sufHcient  opening  has  been  efiected  the  distensile 
mouth  is  intruded  until  tin-  «;oft  oyster  is  seized  and  T-on- 
sumcd. 

Thestar-fishmust  live  to  an  old  age,  as,  according  to  Agassiz, 
.some  14  years  are  required  for  full  growth  and  development. 
Its  ability  to  reproduce  lost  members  is  well  known.  Certain 
species  like  the  Ophiurans,  or  brittle-stars,  have,  in  fact,  a 
faculty  for  dismemberment  which  is  truly  marvelous,  for 
they  break  their  limbs  to  pieces  when  irritated.  The  rays, 
when  broken,  are  renewed,  but   the  stomach,  if  severed,  or 


90  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

divided,  cannot  be  renewed.  The  idea,  therefore,  that  oyster 
fishermen,  in  cuttino;  up  the  star-fish,  "make  two  or  three 
star-fishes  out  of  each  captive,"  is  evidently  erroneous.  This 
insensibility  to  mutilation  is  common  to  a  large  number  of 
the  lower  animals  found  on  the  coast.  The  sea-anemones 
{Actinozoa)  accomplish  even  that  mathematical  paradox, 
multiplication  by  division;  for  when  they  move  from  one 
part  of  a  rock  to  another,  they  often  leave  fragments  of  them- 
selves behind,  and  these  fragments  soon  become  smooth  and 
spherical,  and  are  transformed  to  perfect,  though  minute, 
anemones.  The  flat-worms  {Eurylepta)  offer  a  still  more 
remarkable  instance.  When  cut  to  pieces,  each  piece  not 
only  continues  moving  in  the  direction  in  which  the  whole 
animal  was  moving  at  the  time,  but  gradually  becomes  com- 
plete in  all  its  parts — a  veritable  "  chip  of  the  old  block."  It 
is  related  that  two  polyps  often  attempt  to  swallow  the  same 
pre}^,  and  when  this  is  not  easily  severed  the  largest  polyp 
gapes  and  swallows  his  antagonist.  This  last  seems,  how- 
ever, to  be  the  gainer  by  the  operation,  as,  after  lying  in  the 
conqueror's  body  for  an  hour  or  so  it  issues  unhurt  and  often 
in  possession  of  the, original  bone  of  contention. 

THE  CRAB. 

Next  to  the  03^ster  few  animals  are  more  often  on  the  tables 
of  the  Washingtonian  than  the  crab,  and  I  will  ask  you  to 
bear  his  form  in  mind — whether  as  vou  have  seen  him 
scampering  along  sidewise  on  the  sand  or  dished  up  "  dev- 
iled," or  in  "soft  shell;"  while  I  rapidly  trace  his  develop- 
ment. The  crab  undergoes  such  changes  that  it  has  been 
known  by  different  names  at  different  periods  of  its  growth, 
and  has  been  placed  in  distinct  orders.  The  species  most 
used  here  and  southward  is  known  as  Callinedes  hastatus,  but 
as  its  early  history  has  not  3^et,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  been 
critically  studied,  I  will  take  the  common  shore  crab  {Can- 
cer irroratus)  as  an  example,  for  it  is  closely  allied  to  the 
European  table  crab.  Here  we  have  a  picture  of  the  newly- 
hatched  or  Zoea  form.  (Fig.  5.)  You  will  agree  with  me 
that  in  this  singular,  long-bodied,  long-spincd  affair  there 


I'ACTS    ABOUT    WKI.I.    KNOWN    ANIMALS. 


01 


is  littlr  1(1  rceall  tlif  *  rcatiuc  >(>  familiar  t«i  you,  tlioii^ili   the 
slnu'luii'  i>    far    Ix'ttrr   ailaptrd    In   suinnning   IVeely  in  tlic 


Fiir.  5. — ZoeaofCrab.     (After  Smith.) 


Fig.  6. — Meg.ilops  of  Crali.     (After  Smith.) 


92  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

water.  In  some  crabs  belonging  to  the  genus  Porcellana 
the  anterior  spine  or  rostrum  is  supple,  and  many  times 
longer  than  the  body.  After  a  few  months  the  form  changes 
material!}',  the  month-parts,  which  before  were  swimming 
legs,  are  now  fitted  for  i)reparing  the  food,  and  we  have 
what  is  known  as  the  Megalops  condition,  which  looks  much 
like  a  lobster,  but  in  which  the  mature  crab  is  sufficiently 
foreshadowed.     (Fig.  6.) 

Let  us  now  leave  the  ocean  and  talk  of  a  few  of  the  com- 
moner animals  inland. 

THE    FROG. 

The  common  frog,  {Rana  temporaria,)  which  occurs  both 
here  and  in  Europe,  passes  the  winter  buried  in  the  mud  of 
stagnant  waters,  in  a  torpid  condition;  aye,  and  it  may  even 
be  frozen  till  it  is  so  brittle  as  to  chink,  without  the  loss  of 
life.  The  frogs  are  now  issuing  forth  to  join  with  their  pe- 
culiar croak  in  the  zoological  concert  of  spring.  The  ac- 
companying figures  will  aid  us  in  understanding  the  trans- 
formations of  the  frog.  They  are  poor  coj)ies  of  the  admira- 
ble originals  of  Roesel  von  Rosenhof,  generally  credited  to 
Mivart,  because  this  last  author  failed  to  credit  them  to  the 
proper  source.  Hatching  from  dark  globular  eggs  enclosed 
in  a  transparent,  gelatinous  fluid  which  agglutinates  them 
and  enables  them  to  float  in  masses  on  the  water,  the  young 
tadpole  congregates  under  the  leaf  of  some  aquatic  plant, 
where  it  feeds  by  suction.  It  has  prominent  external 
branchiae,  and  is  in  every  respect  admirabl}^  adapted  to 
aquatic  life.  The  legs  are  firsl  seen  as  mere  buds,  the  front 
pair  hidden  under  the  02:)ercular  membrane.  As  they  de- 
velop the  gills  are  absorbed ;  the  mouth  loses  its  suctorial 
character;  the  e3'es,  instead  of  being  concealed,  become  ex- 
posed, and  the  front  limbs  are  uncovered.  The  tail  is  next 
gradually  absorbed,  and  the  animal  is  now  truly  amphibi- 
ous, for  the  lungs,  Avhich  have  replaced  the  gills,  enables  it 
to  live  out  of  water.  From  a  vegetarian  it  has  become  car- 
nivorous and  now  comes  on  land  in  search  of  worms  and 


FACTS  Aiiorr  \\i:i.i.  known   ani.maf.s. 


!tr, 


insects,  and  in  such  niinihcis  in  (lanip  wratlier  as  to  give 
rise  to  the  Ix'Hof,  still  jK)|)ulaily  adhered  (u  in  many  sections, 
that  it  has  rained  IVotis. 


Fig.  7.  Tiansformations  of  frog :  a,  newly  hatched  tadpoles ;  b,  >ame  enlarged, 
showing  extemil  gills ;  c,  d,  e,  later  stages,  the  gills  enclosed  by  the  opercular 
membrane ;  /,  stage  with  hind  limbs  developing;  g,  after  molt  with  both  pairs  of 
limbs  showing;  //,  partial  atrophy  of  tail ;  »',  full  formed  young  frog.    (.After  Rosel. ) 

They  iilun.i;e  into  the  nuid  auain  at  the  approach  of 
winter,  hut  next  year  and  each  successive  year,  go  through 
a  performance  of  which  many  of  you  are  not  prohahly 
aware.  They  cast  off  their  old  frozen  skin  each  si>ring,and 
\\\\<  is  the  way  in  whicli  it  is  done,  as  related  by  an  eye  wit- 
ni'ss.  Let  us  imagine  we  arc  on  the  edge  of  some  swamp 
and  are  watching  some  large  fellow  who  is  ahout  to  undress 
himself.  Like  the  rest  of  his  hretlncn  lie  has  had  sudi  a 
shamefully  long  .sleep,  that  on  awakening  he  feels  dull  and 


94  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

stifif,  and  does  not  like  to  appear  in  society  till  he  has  thrown 
off  his  old  worn-out  garments  and  put  on  new  ones,  never 
hesitating  about  the  fashion,  but  following  the  pattern  of 
his  ancestors  for  generation  upon  generation.  He  begins  by 
pressing  his  elbows  hard  against  his  sides,  and  rubbing 
downwards  ;  he  keeps  on  until  the  skin  on  his  back  bursts, 
and  lie  then  works  it  into  folds  on  his  sides  and  hips.  Now, 
grasping  one  hind  leg  with  Ijoth  his  hands,  he  hauls  off  one 
leg  of  his  pants,  and  there  I  almost  before  3'ou  can  count 
three,  the  other  goes  in  the  same  wax.  He  now  takes  the 
cast-off  cuticle  before  him,  between  his  legs,  into  his  mouth 
and  swallows  it,  and  even  while  it  yet  descends  the  gullet, 
he  has  torn  off  the  skin  underneath,  and  brought  it  to  his 
fore  legs  or  hands,  and  grasping  one  of  these  with  the  other, 
by  considerable  pulling  he  strips  them,  just  as  we  should 
strip  off  a  shirt,  and  by  a  single  motion  of  the  head  he 
draws  the  skin  from  the  neck  and  swallows  the  whole  with 
a  c-r-r-r-oak  of  satisfaction,  for  he  knows  full  well,  tliat  such 
a  dainty  morsel  he  can  get  but  once  a  year. 

]Most  frogs  and  toads  go  through  the  tadijole  development 
in  the  water,  but  in  some  terrestrial  species  where  marshes 
are  scarce  or  lacking,  the  development  takes  place  either 
before  birth  or  in  a  marsupium  or  sac  on  the  back  of  the 
parent.  The  tadpole  state  may  also  be  indefinitely  pro- 
longed, as  Jeffries  Wyman  kept  one,  of  the  bullfrog,  for  seven 
years,  or  many  more  than  the  natural  period  of  larval  ex- 
istence. The  frog  is  a  true  vertebrate,  belonging  to  the  same 
great  Branch  of  the  animal  kingdom  as  man.  Yet  the 
changes  it  undergoes  after  birth  are  as  remarkable  as  are 
those  we  have  already  noticed  in  the  lower  Branches.  In 
some  allied  animals,  indeed,  development  is  permanently 
arrested  in  the  tadpole  .state,  and  I  will,  before  passing  to  a 
few  well-known  insects,  briefly  refer  you  to  a  rather  re- 
markable animal  which  occurs  in  our  brackisli  Western  lakes 
of  high  altitudes.  I  refer  to  it  in  order  to  show  how  greatly 
form  is  influenced  by  conditions.  Here  we  have  figures  of 
it.  (Fig.  8.)  It  was  described  b}'  Prof  Baird  as  Siredon 
lichenoides,  and,  as  you  will  note,  has  mauv  of  the  character- 


FACTS    AP.OIT    \VK[,I.    KNOWN    ANIMALS. 


96 


istics  of  the  tadpole  of  the  frog,  its  external  brancliia)  and 
nioinl)ranous  back  ami  tail,  well  fittini!;  it  for  aquatic  life. 
Now  this  Siredon  will  either  retain  this  larval   form  iM-rma- 


Fig.  S.  Amblysfoma  mavortium  Baird :  a,  larval  form  or  SireJon  lichenoides 
Baird,  side  view;  b,  do.,  dorsal  view  ;  c,  mature  form  partially  developed  and  cor- 
responding lo  ./.  inncnlatiiin  Hall. — all  one-half  natural  size.     (After  Marsh.) 

nently  and  perpetuate  itself,  or  else  may  become  transformed 
into  a  perfect  salamander,  under  wliicli  form  it  has  been  re- 
ferred to  another  ^enus  and  described  as  Amhli/sloma  mavor- 
(inm.  Not  only  are  the  dorsal  and  caudal  membranes  and 
the  external  branchitc  absorbed  in  the  process,  but  the  color 
•  •hanges,  the  size  decreases,  and  profound  changes  take  i)lace 
in  the  external  and  bony  structure.  An  allied  sj)ecics  from 
the  table-lands  of  Mexico,  normally  remains  and  breeds  in 
the  Siredon  state,  but   will  sometimes  cluinge,  especially  if 


96  SATl^JJDAY    LECTURES. 

brought  uiuler  chaii^ed  iiiiluciK-cs.  Tlic  Siredon  form  of 
this  hist  is  known  by  the  rather  un})r()UOunceable  name  of 
Axolotl,  or  Awahgolotel  as  the  Mexicans  speak  it,  and  the 
mature  form  is  Amblystoma  mexicanum. 

It  greatly  resembles  the  species  first  mentioned,  and  since 
this  has  been  referred  b}'  different  authors  to  three  or  four 
difibrent  genera  and  varies  so  as  to  have  had  at  least  half  a 
dozen  specific  names  given  to  it,  we  may  pretty  safely  as- 
sume that  the  INIexican  form  is  also  but  a  well-marked  va- 
riety. Most  re})tiles,  and  especially  batrachians,  vary  much 
in  color,  and  have  the  power  in  greater  or  less  degree  of 
simulating  that  of  their  surroundings.  Tlie  common  tree- 
toad  is  a  familiar  example  ;  so  that  the  discussion  about 
species  may  sometimes  be  likened  to  the  quarrel  of  the 
knights  who  were  looking  on  different  sides  of  the  same 
shield.  Before  leaving  the  Siredon  I  desire  to  say,  in  justice 
to  the  able  and  beloved  director  of  this  Museum,  that 
already  in  1849,  or  long  before  their  specific  connection  had 
been  established  by  experiment,  he  correctly  inferred  that 
Siredon  would  prove  to  be  the  larva  of  Amblystoma. 

THE  HOUSE-FLY. 

The  most  persistent  companion  of  man  is,  perhaps,  the 
house-fly.  It  has  followed  him  everywhere  in  his  own  con- 
veyances, and  is  found,  so  far  as  we  know,  wherever  civilized 
man  has  established  himself.  Our  American  house-fl}^  was 
described  as  a  distinct  species  {Musca  harpyia)  by  Harris, 
but  Packard  found  it,  after  critical  comparisons,  specifically 
identical  with  the  Linnaeali  species.  Already,  with  the 
growing  warmth  of  this  beautiful  spring  month,  the  fly  be- 
gins to  show  its  familiar  form  in  our  houses,  and  to  inspire 
the  careful  housekeeper  with  feelings  anything  but  agreeable. 
Whence  comes  it  ?  How  has  it  passed  the  winter  ?  Such 
questions  are  often  asked.  Let  us  answer  them.  Not  all  v/ho 
have  watched  the  fly  poising  or  darting  noiselessly  and 
gracefully  in  mid-air,  or  deftly  making  its  toilet,  have  real- 
ized that  at  one  time  it  was  a  crawling  maggot,  as  unlike  its 
perfect  self  as  two  things  well  can  be.     The  eggs  are  about 


1  ACTS    ABOUT    WKLL    KNOWN    ANIMALS.  ".»< 

tour-liuiulri'dtlis  of  an  inch  loni;,  one-fourth  as  wide,  (hill 
white  in  i-olor,  and  pitted  with  elongate,  hexagonal  dcpres- 
sjions — mere  whitish  sspees  to  the  unaided  eye,  laid  in  little 
agglutinated  i)ilcs  in  warm  manure  or  in  deeom[>osmg  vege- 
tation, especially  tliat  about  our  stables  and  barn-yards. 
From  SO  to  100  are  laid  at  a  time,  and  probably  at  three  or 
four  dill'erent  intervals  by  the  same  fly,  though  on  this  point 
we  have  no  I'xai-t  data.  Within  24  bonis,  in  summer,  they 
hatch  into  footless  maggots,  which,  after  rioting  in  filth  till 
their  tender  skins  seem  ready  to  burst  from  repletion  be- 
come full-fed  in  less  than  a  week  and,  descending  into  the 
earth  or  sheltering  under  some  old  board,  contract  to  brown, 
shining  objects,  rounded  at  both  ends,  and  technically 
known  as  puparia.  Within  the  darkness  of  this  hardened 
skin  piofoiin<l  changes  rapidly  take  place,  and  the  insect 
passes  through  the  pupa  to  the  perfect  state,  and  finally,  in 
about  five  days,  liie  anterior  end  of  the  puparium  is  j)U.shed 
oil  and  the  fly  quickly  crawls  out.  At  first  its  parts  are 
pale  and  soft,  and  its  wings  arc  crum[)led  and  useless,  but 
these  soon  expand,  and  suddenly,  without  practice  or  teach- 
ing the  new-fledged  fly  wings  its  way  to  your  table  to  mock 
your  displeasure — to  share  your  rejiast.  The  length  of  time 
required  from  hatching  to  maturity  varies  with  the  season 
and  temperature,  but  will  not  exceed  ten  days  in  midsum- 
mer, while  the  life  of  the  perfect  fly  lasts  about  three  weeks 
at  the  same  .season.  As  cold  weather  approaches  j>ropaga- 
tion  ceases,  and  the  older  flies  perish.  A  few  of  ihe  more 
vigorous  females,  however,  retreat  to  some  nook  or  cranny 
where,  in  a  state  of  torpor,  they  survive  till  the  ensuing 
sea.son — links  'twixt  the  summer  gone  by  and  to  come.  The 
in.sect  may  also  hibernate  in  the  pupa  state  in  the  ground, 
as  I  have  fouinl  the  jmparia  quite  late  in  the  fall.  In 
rooms  kept  continuous!}-  warm,  or  in  more  .southern  lati- 
tudes, the  fly  remains  active  all  winter,  and  our  palace 
sleeping-cars  bring  them  daily  to  us  from  Florida  during 
the  coldest  months  of  the  year. 

I  have  no  figures  of  the  house-fly  in  its  difierent  states 


98 


SATURDAY    LECTURES. 


with  me,  but  they  bear  a  general  resemblance  to  those  of 
the  flesh-fly.     (Fig.  9.) 


Fig-  9- — Sarcophaga  san-accnia- :  a,  larva,  b,  pupa,  c,  fly,  the  hair  lines  show, 
ing  average  natural  lengths ;  d,  enlarged  head  and  first  joint  of  larva,  showing 
curved  hooks,  lower  lip  {g),  and  prothoracic  spiracles;  e,  end  of  body  of  same- 
showing  stigmata  (/)  and  pro-legs  and  vent ;  h,  tarsal  claws  of  fly  with  protect- 
ing pads ;   /,  antenna  of  same — enlarged.      (After  Riley.) 

You  will  notice  that  the  larva  tapers  toward  the  head, 
which  is  retractile,  and  armed  with  two  black  hooks.  It  is 
blunt  and  truncate  behind,  and  breathes  principally  through 
a  pair  of  spiracles  situated  on  this  truncate,  anal  end. 

AVhilo  I  must  pass  over  the  complicated  mouth,  the  stereo- 
scopic eyes,  with  their  4,000  facets,  and  many  curious  details 
in  the  structure  of  the  fly,  it  will  be  well  to  dissipate  two 
quite  widespread  popular  errors  in  regard  to  it.  Most  of 
the  old  authors  tell  us  that  the  fly  walks  on  the  ceiling,  and 
in  other  Avays  defies  the  laws  of  gravitation,  by  suction.  You 
will  notice  from  the  figure  of  the  foot  of  the  flesh-fly  (and 
that  of  the  house-fly  has  a  similar  construction)  that  it  ends 
in  a  pair  of  strong  hooks  and  a  pair  of  pads  or  cushions, 
technically  termed  pulvilli.  These  were  supposed  to  act  as 
sucking  disks  by  creating  a  vacuum,  on  the  same  principle 
as  does  the  piece  of  circular  leather  used  by  school-bo3's  for 
a  similar  purpose.  In  reality,  how^ever,  these  pads  are  beset 
with  innumerable  knobbed  hairs,  which  are  kept  moist  by 
an  exuding  fluid.  In  short,  we  have  here  a  repetition,  after 
a  fashion,  of  the  ambulacra!  suckers  of  the  star-fish.  The 
smoother  the  surface,  the  greater  the  adhesion  of  the  digituli. 
This  you  will  at  once  understand  by  gently  pressing  or 
drawing  the  moist  finger  ends  over  a  glass  window,  or  other 
polished  surface.      The  adhesion  is  very  sensible,  whereas, 


FACTS    AllOlT    WKI.r.    KNuWN    ANIMALS.  !IU 

on  a  rougher  siirfact'  likr  rlotli  or  ;i  wlatewashod  wall,  tlicrc 
will  l>e  nono.*  On  such  .surlact's  the  tarsal  hooks,  by  catch- 
ing in  the  minutest  irregularity,  take  the  ]»laee  of  the  [nvh 
in  assisting  the  fly's  locomotion. 

The  other  })revalent  fallacy  is  that  the  smaller  flies  often 
noticed  in  our  houses  are  young  flies.  In  the  fly,  as  in  all 
other  insects,  real  growth  takes  ])lace  only  in  the  larva  state. 
Tt  ends  with  the  issuing  from  the  pupa  and  the  expansion 
of  the  wings.  Individuals  diiler  in  size  at  maturity  just  as 
they  do  in  man  and  other  animals,  and  various  other  species 
of  Diptera  are  often  associate<l  witli  the  house-fly,  but  they 
arc  all  full-grown. 

A  word  as  to  the  fly's  parasites.  It  has  several.  Probably 
the  most  common  is  the  microscopic  plant  or  fungus,  {Empma 
musciv,)  which  so  often  sheds  a  misty  halo  around  it  in 
autumn,  and  fastens  it  securely  to  the  window  pane;  but 
the  title  to  these  remarks  excludes  its  consideration  in  de- 
tail. A  true  internal  parasite  has  been  found  in  the  pupar- 
ium  by  Dr.  Packard,  the  charactgr  of  which  puzzled  him, 
but  which  is  pi'obably  a  rove-beetle  (family  Stapliylinidse) 
and  probably  of  the  genus  Oleochara,  a  species  of  which  is 
known  to  be  parasitic  on  an  allied  genus  ( Anthomyia)  of 
flies.  The  parasite  most  noticed,  however,  is  the  little  red 
mite  which  so  often  attaches  to  it  near  the  base  of  the  wings. 
Here  vou  have  it  when  first  hatched,  (Fig.  10,)  and  in  the 


Fig.  lo. — Larva  of   Trotnbidiutn  mtiscarum.     (After  Riley. ) 

six-legged  or  Astoma  form,  having  been  referred  to  that 
genus  before  its  larval  character  was  understood.  After 
attaching  to  the  fly  its  body  swells  and  its  legs  get  relatively 

*  Prof.  E.  D.  Cope  mentions  that  on  this  principle,  even  the  Amblystoma  wc 
have  just  talked  about  climbs  a  plate  of  glass  with  great  ease  by  adhering  closely 
to  its  surface  with  the  moist  abdomen. 


100 


SATURDAY   LECTURES. 


smaller  until  we  have  a  mere  bag,  which  finally  I'alls  to  the 
ground,  and  there  lies  helpless  for  a  few  weeks,  during  which 
the  mature  form  which  I  have  described  as  Tromhidium 
muscarum,  and  which  has  eight  instead  of  six  legs,  develops 
under  the  Astoma  skin.  The  spherical  red  eggs  are  laid  in 
loose  masses  in  the  ground,  and  the  young  Astoma,  upon 
hatching,  crawls  upon  the  first  fly  which  offers  it  an  op- 
portunity. 

To  show  the  transformations  I  exhibit  illustrations  (Fig. 


Fig.  II.  —  Trombidium  locustartim. — ^r,  mature  larva  when  about  to  leave  the 
wing  of  a  locust ;  ^,  pupa;  c,  male  adult  when  just  from  the  pupa;  d,  female — 
the  natural  sizes  indicated  to  the  right;  e,  palpal  claw  and  thumb ;  /,  pedal  claws; 
g,  one  of  the  barbed  hairs  ;  h,  the  striations  on  the  larval  skin.      (After  Riley.) 

11)  of  an  allied  species  ( Trombidium  locustaruvi  Riley,)  which 
similarly  affects  locusts  or  "grasshoppers,"  and  I  would 
parenthetically  remark  that  man  is  as  much  subject  to  an- 
noyance from  these  red  mites  as  are  the  fly  and  locust ;  for 
the  irritating  pustules  so  common  in  late  summer  and 
autumn  on  the  limbs  of  persons  who  walk  in  rank  grass  or 
along  rivers  are  caused  bj^  a  minute  red  mite,  {Leptus  irritans 
Riley,)  popularly  denominated  "  Jigger,"  and  evidently  the 
six-legged  larva  of  some  eight-legged  form  not  yet  ascer- 
tained. 

PARASITISM. 

This  external  parasitism  in  insects  is,  however,  less  remark- 
able than  that  which  is  internal. 

If  I  should  tell  you  that  I  know  certain  kinds  of  birds 


FACTS  Ar.di  r  \vi:i,i,  knuwn   am.maf.s. 


Hil 


wliirli  ltor('  holts  into  lliu  bodies  ol"  cuws,  slicep,  aii<l  other 
lu'rbivorous  aiiinuils,  and  tlicri'iii  deposit  eggs;  that  those 
eggs  luituli  into  li/.ards  ;  that  these  li/.anis  grow  fat  at  tlie 
exi)ense  of  the  sheep,  but  without  ininiediately  killing  them; 
that,  in  faet,  a  sheep  so  affected  could  live  without  eating  for 
years,  where  otherwise  it  wouhl  die  in  a  few  days  without 
tbod  ;  that  the  li/.ards  in  time  leave  the  body  of  the  sheci)in 
nundjcrs  and  Imii'ow  into  the  ground:  and  that,  linally, 
after  the  lapse  of  an  indi'tinite  })eriod,  they  issue  forth  in 
tile  Ibrm  of  birds  like  their  parents,  wh}-,  not  one  of  you 
would  believe  nio !  But,  it  is  only  by  drawing  some  such 
striking  picture  that  I  can  hope  to  convey  to  you  any  cor- 
rect iilea  of  the  remarkable  facts  of  parasitism  in  the  insect 
world.  Most  insects  have  primary  parasites,  but  in  some 
eases  these  are  themselves  prej'ed  on  by  secondary  parasites 
and  these  again  by  tertiary  ones ;  so  that  a  worm  may  be  a 
})eripatetic  banqueting  hall  for  several  other  insects  at  the 
same  time. 

To  be  more  explicit  and  exact,  let  us  take  a  familiar  ex- 
ample.    The  typical  female  Ichneumon-fly  has  something 


Fig.  12. — Pinipla  annulipis :  Outline  side  view  of  female  .ami  of  male  abdo- 
men.    (After  Riley. ) 

of  tins  form  which  I  will  draw  on  the  blackboard,  (see 
Fig.  12,  Pimpla  annnlipis  Br.,)  its  chief  charticteristics  be- 
ing the  long  ovipositor  with  the  two  sheath.s,  }>ossessed  by 
the  female  but  not  by  the  male. 


102  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

Let  US  take  for  examples  the  large  Potato- worm  or  any 
other  Sphinx  larva  with  the  horn  near  its  end  (which  seems 
to  have  no  other  purpose  that  to  frighten  superstitious 
people  who  erroneously  believe  it  to  be  capable  of  inflicting 
a  })oisonous  sting,)  and  one  of  its  commoner  Ichneumon  para- 
sites belonging  to  the  genus  Microgaster.  Our  female  Ichneu- 
mon-fly hovers  about  the  worm  while  it  quietly  feeds.  Set- 
tling finally  on  its  back,  generally  behind  the  head  where 
its  mouth  cannot  reach  her,  she  deliberately  thrusts  her  ovi- 
positor through  the  skin  of  her  victim  and  oviposits  within 
its  body.  Ilcr  young  are  soft,  whitish  larvEe  which,  ujDon  is- 
suing, spin  upon  the  poor  worm's  back  a  number  of  egg- 
shaped  cocoons  (Figure  13,)  often  mistaken  for  eggs  by  the 


Fig.  13. — Shrunken  larva  of  Cha'rocampa  pampinatrix,  with  Microgaster  co- 
coons.    (After  Harris.) 

uninitiated.  Within  these  the  transformations  are  under- 
gone, and  the  perfect  flies  cut  a  lid  through  the  top  of  the 
cocoon  and  escai)e,  sometimes  while  yet  their  victim  shows 
faint  signs  of  life.  Now  such  a  parasitized  worm  will  drag 
out  a  paralyzed  kind  of  existence  without  food  for  several 
wrecks,  where,  normally,  it  would  starve  to  death  in  as  many 
days,  and  the  parasite  may,  in  its  turn,  be  infested  with  a 
secondary  species,  etc.,  as  above  stated. 

THE  MOSQUITO. 

There  is  another  little  lady  whom  you  have  fed  and  re- 
galed at  your  own  expense,  and  very  unwillingly  withal. 
She  is  by  no  means  modest,  but  steals  unbidden  into  your 
room.  She  generally  heralds  her  coming  with  song  that  is 
anything  but  soothing,  and  she  is  so  persevering  that  even 
the  strong  "  bars  "  with  which  you  protect  j'-ourself  are  not 
proof  against  her  persecutions.  You  have  all,  no  doubt,  at 
times  exercised  a  little  strategy  with  the  mosquito,   and 


FACTS   ABOUT    WKLF.    KNOWN    ANIMALS. 


103 


when  the  little  torment  was  fairly  settled,  made  a  dexterous 
movement  of  the  hand,  and  with  a  slap  exclaimed,  "I've 
got  him  this  time!"  No  such  thing;  you  never  got  him  in 
your  life,  but  probably  have  often  succeeded  in  crushing 
her,  for  the  male  mosquito  is  a  considerate  gentleman.  In 
lieu  of  the  piercer  of  the  female  he  is  decorated  with  u 
beautiful  plume,  and  has  such  a  love  of  home  that  hesel.dom 
sallies  forth  from  the  swamp  where  he  was  born,  but  con- 
tents himself  with  vegetal  rather  than  animal  juices.  (I 
do  not  wish  to  make  any  reflections,  but  in  the  insect  world 
it  is  always  the  females  which  sting !) 

But  to  its  history.  The  mosquito  was  not  born  a  winged 
fly,  and  if  you  will  examine  a  tub  of  rainwater  that  has 
stood  uncovered  and  unmolested  for  a  week  or  more  durinir 
any  of  the  summer  months,  you  may  see  it  in  all  its  vari- 
ous forms.  You  may  sec  the  female  supporting  herself  on 
the  water  with  her  four  front  legs  and  crossing  the  hinder 
pair  like  the  letter  X.  In  this  support  made  by  the  legs 
she  is  depositing  her  eggs,  which  are  just  perceptible  to  the 
naked  eye.  By  the  aid  of  a  lens  they  are  seen  to  be  glued  to- 
gether so  as  to  form  a  little  boat,  which  knocks  about  on  the 
water  till  the  young  hatch.  And  what  hatches  from  them? 
Why  those  very  wrigglers  (Fig.  14,/)  which  jerk  away  every 


Fig.  \i,.—Culex  pipiens  :  a,  male;  b,  head  r.f  fcmaU- :   ,-.  j'»im^  of  male  an- 
tenna ;  /.  lana ;  g,  pupa— all  enlai^cd.     r After  Wc^twood. ^ 

time  you    touch    the  water.     They  are  destined  to  live  a 
certain    period    in    this    watery  element,  and   cannot   take 


104  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

wing  and  join  their  parent  in  her  war  song  and  house  in- 
vasions, till,  after  throwing  oft"  the  skin  a  few  times,  they 
have  become  full-grown,  and  then  with  another  molt  have 
changed  to  what  are  technically  known  as  pupae  {g)  In 
this  state  they  are  no  longer  able  to  do  anything  but 
patiently  float  with  their  humped  backs  at  the  surface  of 
the  water,  or  to  swim  by  jerks  of  the  tail  beneath,  after  the 
fashion  of  a  shrimp  or  a  lobster.  At  the  end  of  about  three 
days  they  stretch  out  on  the  surface  like  a  boat,  the  mosquito 
bursts  the  skin  and  gradually  works  out  of  the  shell  which 
supports  here  during  the  critical  operation.  She  rests  with 
her  long  legs  on  the  surface  for  a  few  moments,  till  the 
wings  have  expanded  and  become  dry,  and  then  flies  away 
to  fulfill  her  mission,  a  totally  different  animal  to  what  she 
was  a  few  hours  before,  and  no  more  able  to  live  in  the 
water  as  she  did  then,  than  are  any  of  us  !  Is  it  not 
wonderful  that  such  profound  changes  should  take  place  in 
so  short  a  time?  Even  the  bird  has  to  learn  to  use  its 
wings  by  practice  and  slow  degrees,  but  the  mosquito  uses 
her  newly  acquired  organs  of  flight  to  perfection  from  the 
start ! 

In  this  transformation  from  an  aquatic  to  an  aerial  life, 
the  mosquito  has  first  breathed  from  a  long  tube  near  the 
tail ;  next  through  two  tubular  horns  near  the  head,  and, 
finally,  through  a  series  of  spiracles  along  the  wdiole  body. 

From  a  calculation,  made  by  Baron  Latour,  the  mosquito 
in  flight  vibrates  its  wings  3,000  times  in  a  minute — a 
rapidity  of  motion  hardly  conceivable. 

Those  who  have  traveled  in  summer  on  the  lower  ]\Iissis- 
sippi  or  in  the  Northwest  have  experienced  the  torment 
which  these  frail  flies  can  inflict :  at  times  they  drive  every- 
one from  the  boat,  and  trains  can  sometimes  only  be  run 
with  comfort  on  the  Northern  Pacific  by  keeping  a  smudge 
in  the  baggage  car  and  the  doors  of  all  the  coaches  open  to 
the  fumes. 

The  bravest  man  on  the  fleetest  horse  dares  not  cross 
some  of  the  more  rank  and  dank  prairies  of  Northern  Min- 
nesota in  June.     It  is  well  known  that  Father  De  Smit  once 


FACTS    AIJOIT    \Vi;i.l,    KNitWN     ANIMALS.  1<).") 

nearly  ilit'd  tVoni  iii(>s(|uitt>  hilcs.  his  (K'sh  luino-  so  swollen 
around  the  arms  and  l(\i>s  that,  it  literally  hurst. 

Mosquitoes  have  i-iuscmI  the  rout  of  armies  and  the  de- 
sertion of  eities,  and  1  would  eounsel  all  wiio  desire  to  learn 
how  tlu'  hum  of  an  iusignilicant  ynat  may  insj>ir(>  more 
terror  than  the  roar  of  the  lion,  to  consult  Kirhy  and 
Spenee's  history  of  the  former. 

There  are  many  species  of  the  mosquito,  all  ditieriiii; 
somewhat  in  habit  aud  season  of  a[»i)earance,  and  doubtless 
also  in  mode  of  development,  which,  in  fact,  has  been  studied 
in  but  few.  They  oicur  everywhere,  whether  in  the  torrid 
or  the  arctic  /one.  and  are  nowhere  more  numerous  or  tor- 
mentiuii;  than  in  Lajiland. 

lioth  the  fly  and  the  mosquito  are  great  scavengers  in 
infancy,  the  one  purifying  the  air  we  breathe,  the  other  the 
water  we  drink.  They  {)erform,  in  this  wa}',  an  indirect 
service  to  man  which  lew,  perhaps,  appreciate,  and  wliieh 
somewhat  at<^nes  for  their  ba<l  habits  in  maturity. 

II 11".   i;.\Ki"iI-\V()RM. 

The  next  well-kn(jwn  animal  that  1  shall  speak  of  is  the 
earth-worm.  There  are  several  species  in  dill'erent  parts  of 
the  world  and  I  am  not  aware  that  any  one  has  critically 
determined  our  connnon  North  America  species  to  be  the 
Lnnibricns  tcrrc.<itris  of  Euroj)e,  which,  however,  we  will,  as 
others  have  done,  assume  it  to  be.  It  belongs  to  the  great 
branch  ]Wriics,  of  which  it  is  typical,  and  its  general  habits 
are  too  well-known  to  need  detailing.  If  you  have  ever  had 
occasion  to  catch  worms  for  some  pet  bird  or  for  baiting  pur- 
poses, you  have  learned  that  this  creature  is  by  no  means  .so 
sluggish  and  weak  as  is  conunonly  supposed,  for  it  can  re- 
treat within  its  burrow  like  a  Hash  and  can  .secure  such  a 
tirm  hold  therein  as  to  abnost  defy  extraction  intact.  Place 
one  u[)on  your  hand  and  its  movements  will  cau.^e  a  slight 
tingling  roughness.  Examine  the  l)ody  with  a  lens  and  von 
di.scover  that  each  of  the  numerous  rings  or  joints  hito  which 
it  is  divi<led  is  furnisjied  with  four  i)airs  of  minute  tractile 
hooks  or  points  which  take  the  place  of  legs  and  by  means 
of  which  its  movements  are  aided,  and  it  is  enabled  to  hold 


106 


SATURDAY    LECTURES. 


to  its  burrow  as  above  indicated.  The  earth-worm  is  her- 
maphrodite. Yet  the  junction  of  two  individuals  is  neces- 
sary to  liberate  and  fructify  the  ova.  At  certain  seasons  a 
few  of  the  rings,  generally  near  the  anterior  third  of  the 
body,  swell  so  as  to  look  much  like  a  healing  wound.  Two 
individuals  join  at  these  swollen  parts,  a  glutinous  secretion 
aiding  the  conjugation. 


Fig.  15. — Lumbricus  terrestris  :  a,  worm  with  pale,  swollen  rings;  b,  two 
conjoined;  c,  egg,  natural  size;  d,  do.,  enlarged,  (after  Curtis;)  e,  a  few  rings; 
f,  transverse  section,  showing  spines,  enlarged.      (After  Samuelson.) 

The  young  worm  is  born  much  like  its  parent,  either  free  or 
in  a  cyst-like  covering,  which  subsequently  bursts-r-the 
nature  of  the  soil  having  apparently  something  to  do  with 
the  difference.  In  some  species  a  number  of  eggs  are  enclosed 
in  a  single  capsule.  The  worm,  though  living  in  the  earth, 
is  really  semi-aquatic.  It  will  live  a  long  while  in  water, 
but  soon  dies  when  exposed  to  the  dry  air.  It  delights  most 
in  damp  soil,  and  takes  advantage  of  rains  to  travel  at  night 
on  the  surface,  and  in  earfy  spring  it  is  often  allured  in  great 
numbers  on  to  the  warm  pavements  of  our  city,  where  many 
perish  if  the  weather  becomes  suddenly  cold  or  the  pave- 
ment dries  out  too  rapidl3^  The  earth-worm  hibernates  at 
the  bottom  of  its  burrow,  which  may  extend  from  three  to 
six  feet  in  a  light  soil ;  it  also  remains  coiled  up  in  a  state 
of  torpor  during  very  dry  weather.  It  is  by  no  means  de- 
void of  sense  or  intelligence ;  but  it  is  as  an  agent  in  indi- 
rectly promoting  man's  welfare  that  this  humble  creature 
performs  a  part  that  few  suspect.  The  same  genius  who  so 
profoundly  influenced   modern   scientific    thought  by  the 


I'ACTS    ADOUT    Win. I.    KNOWN'    ANIMALS.  H  »7 

"Orip:in  of  Sptx-io.<,"  lias  recently  ;i,ivtii  us  a  treatise  on  the 
earth-worni.  wherein  its  iiuftortant  work  is  admirably  set 
forth.  Worms  are  in  reality  the  uri^inal  tillers  of  the  soil, 
and  the  present  mold-hnilders  of  the  world.  Darwin  i)roves 
the  correctness  of  the  position  he  maintained  some  forty-five 
Years  ajjo  in  a  jiaper  read  l)efore  the  Royal  Geo<>rai)hical 
Society  of  London,  viz:  that  "the  farmer  is  only  imitating 
in  a  clumsy  manner,  without  being  able  to  bury  the  ])eb])les 
or  sift  the  line  from  the  coarse  soil,  the  work  which  nature 
is  daily  performing  by  the  agency  of  the  earth-worm."  By 
their  castings  they  liave  been  known  to  raise  a  field  13  inches 
in  80  years,  and  they  have  not  only  helped  materially  in 
burying  small  superincumbent  objects;  but  have,  according 
to  Darwin,  played  an  important  part  in  the  burial  of  ancient 
buildings.  The  celebrated  seedsman,  Mr.  J.  J.  II.  Gregory, 
of  Marblehead,  Mass.,  carefully  collected  the  castings  daily 
for  one  season  over  a  given  area,  and  they  measured  nearly 
a  quart  to  the  s(|Uare  foot,  or  enough  to  raise  the  surface  ot 
the  land  half  an  inch.  lie  also,  by  exiicrimcnt,  .'^hows  that 
an  acre  of  land  may  contain  six  tons  of  worms;  Yon  Ilen- 
sen  estimated  53,7(37  worms  to  the  acre,  and  that  they  would 
make  37  jtounds  of  mold  every  'i-l  hours.  As  agents  in  aid- 
ing denudation  they  are  also  powerful. 

Who,  remembering  the  gigantic  work  })erformed  by  the 
coral  polyp  in  transforming,  so  to  speak,  ocean  into  land — 
the  important  part  it  has  played  in  the  configuration  of  con- 
tinents, can  doubt  the  wonderful  services  of  the  earth-worm 
as  Darwin  has  so  forcibly  i)resented  them  ?  In  some  respects 
he  has,  perhaps,  underrated  the  results  of  fro.'^t  and  of  atmos- 
l>heric  dust  and  dej)osit,  in  burying  objects  and  increasing 
superficial  soil,  and  1  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  value  of 
worms  from  the  agricultin-al  standpoint  is  overrated,  since 
they  are  a  well  recogni/,e<l  nuisance  in  lawns  and  pots,*  tend 
to  deatlen  the  soil  where  excessive,  and  do  not  occur  in  the 
very  .-^oils  that  most  need  the  digested  humus  or  decompos- 
ing vegetation  which  they  cast  up;  but  allowing  this,  the 


*  Grated  horse-chestnut  or  lime  mixed  in  the  soil  will  relieve  llic  same  of  \\  orm\ 


108  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

worms'  part  in  the  history  of  the  world,  and  in  a  geological 
sense,  is  still  amazing. 

There  are,  indeed,  very  good  reasons  for  believing  that  all 
genuine  loam  is  produced  solely  by  worms.. 

"  Think  naught  a  trifle,  though  it  small  appear; 
Small  sands  the  mountain,  moments  make  tiie  year. 
And  trifles  life!"' 

And  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  limit  of  time  which 
custom  and  a  due  regard  for  your  feelings  have  established 
for  these  lectures  has  been  reached.  I  had  hoped  to  say 
something  of  the  scale-insects  which  are  so  common  and 
destructive  on  our  fruit  trees  and  other  plants,  and  which 
give  us  the  lac  and  tlie  cochineal  of  commerce  as  they  gave 
the  manna  to  the  people  of  Israel ;  to  show  you  how  perfect 
a  parallelism  may  be  traced  in  the  history  of  some  of  them 
and  that  of  the  oyster: — the  active  young;  the  degrada- 
tional  development ;  the  formation  of  the  shell ;  the  way  it 
is  perforated  by  parasites,  etc.,  oifer  a  remarkable  instance 
of  the  existence  of  that  misleading  analogy  of  function 
which  Prof  Gill  so  abl}'  dealt  with,  in  creatures  which  be- 
long to  different  branches  of  the  animal  kingdom,  and 
which  possess  no  possible  homologies  with  each  other.  I 
had  hoped  to  give  you  some  details  of  the  remarkable 
hyper-metamorphoses  and  life-habits  of  the  blister-beetle, 
of  which  Ave  annualh^  import  large  quantities  under  the 
name  of  cantharides,  when  we  have  a  number  of  indigenous 
species  with  as  good  or  better  vesicatory  properties.  But, 
above  all,  I  wanted  to  treat  of  the  butterfly,  for  if  the  trans- 
formations of  the  animals  I  have  already  spoken  of  are  re- 
markable, those  of  the  butterfly  from  the  caterpillar,  through 
the  chrysalis,  transcend  them  all,  and  have  always  excited 
the  greatest  curiosit}^  and  wonder;  while  the  feat  which  the 
caterpillar  in  some  instances  performs  in  the  change  to  the 
suspending  chr3^salis  is  really  marvelous,  and  was  first  prop- 
erly explained,  a  little  more  than  two  years  ago,  before  the 
Philosophical  Society  of  this  city.  I  have  been  able  only 
in  the  most  imperfect  manner  to  treat  of  the  more  salient 
facts  in  the  lives  of  some  half  dozen  of  the  numerous  ani- 


FACTS    AIJOUT    \VI;LI.    KNiiWN    ANIMALS.  Kt'J 

nulls  laniiliar  to  all,  ami  it  I  have  succeeded  in  investing; 
these  with  a  new  interest  in  your  eyes,  the  elloi-t  will  not 
have  heen  in  vain.  1  Ik'^'  to  assure  you.  also,  that  there  is 
no  reflection  in  the  assumption  that  you  knew  little  of  .some 
of  tlie  facts  stated,  because,  in  truth,  several  of  them  have 
hut  very  recently  heen  learned  by  naturalists,  and  every 
year's  investii^ation  adds  something  to  the  general  store  of 
knowledp'  in  natural  science. 

in  elosinu,  peruiil  me  to  ofler  a  few  thoughts  that  i^eem 
naturally  to  How  liom  the  matter  of  this  lecture.  We  have 
seen  that  in  every  one  of  the  great  Cuvierian  Branches  of 
the  animal  kingdom — even  in  that  winch  contains  man — 
suri)rising  develo})ment,i)rofound  metamorphoses, are  under- 
gone during  the  life  of  the  individual.  From  the  maggot 
to  the  fly  ;  from  the  tadpole  to  the  frog,  astounding  changes 
take  place  in  form,  structure,  and  adaptation  to  surround- 
ings within  a  few  days  or  months,  and  before  our  very  eyes. 
We  have  seen  how  mighty  results  may  follow  in  time  from 
the  slowly-accumulating  yet  scarcely  perceptible  labor  of  so 
seemingly  insignificant  an  object  as  the  earth-worm.  With 
such  facts  before  you  can  you  doubt  that  changes  like  those 
experienced  by  the  individual  in  so  short  a  time  may  have 
been  exi)erieneed  by  the  race  in  unlimhed  time.  Can  you 
longer  wonder  when  nature  thrusts  upon  him  at  every  turn 
such  and  a  thousand  other  evidences  of  development  that 
the  evolutionist  believes  in  it  as  a  principle — a  law — the 
only  mode  of  creation  I     It  permits  us 

"  To  paint  the  past,  yet  in  tlic  past  portray 
Such  shapes  as  seem  <lim  prophets  of  to-day." 

and  had  not  pala?ontology  recently  given  us  absolute  proof 
of  its  truth,  evolution,  even  as  a  mere  conception  of  crea- 
tion, infinitely  transcends  all  former  conceptions.  The  tree 
grows  from  the  root  upward,  not  from  the  leaf  and  flower 
downward.  Man  has  grf>wn  u[)  from  a  past  savagery,  not 
from  i)erfection  downward.  \\'ere  I  to  a.ssure  you  that  you 
were  all  created  full-bearded  and  full-dressed  by  some 
miraculous  fiat,  instead  of  having  been  born  of  ])arcnts  and 


110  SATURDAY    LECTURES, 

developed  from  infancy  through  childhood  to  maturity,  yo\i 
would  flout  the  assertion  as  that  of  a  crazy  man.  Yet  I  do 
assure  you  that  the  similar  miraculous  creation  of  a  species 
out  of  nothing  so  persistent!}-  believed  in  by  many  even 
to-day,  appears  not  one  whit  less  absurd  to  the  well-informed 
naturalist. 

In  reflecting  on  what  I  should  say  to  you  to-day,  I  found 
this  question  constantly  running  through  my  mind:  "Why 
is  it  that  so  little  is  known  in  the  most  intelligent  commu- 
nities of  the  commonest  things  around  them  ?  "  It  is,  I  take 
it,  because,  first,  the  teaching  of  natural  science  is  .so  gener- 
ally neglected  in  our  public  schools  and  other  educational 
institutions.  The  child  is  taught  something  of  the  elephant, 
the  lion,  the  tiger,  and  of  other  tropical  quadrupeds  which 
it  is  rarel}^  destined  to  see  except  in  some  menagerie,  and 
nothing  of  the  many  that  it  meets  with  in  every  day  life ;  so 
that  many  a  man  is  inclined,  with  Carlyle,  to  lament  in  after- 
life that  no  schoolmaster  of  his  had  taught  him  the  grasses 
that  grow  by  the  wayside  and  the  little  neighbors  that  are 
continually  meeting  him  with  a  salutation  which  he  cannot 
answer  as  things  are.  The  importance  of  things  is  too 
often  measured  by  their  size.  Yet  the  unseen  worlds  in  the 
starry  firmament  whicli  the  astronomer  explores  with  his 
telescope  are  no  more  marvelous  than  the  unseen  minims  of 
creation  which  the  naturalist  may  explore  with  his  micro- 
scope !  What  is  true  of  animals  is  true  of  plants  and  of  all 
other  organisms.  Happily  much  progress  has  been  made 
in  this  direction  during  the  past  few  j^ears,  the  tendency  of 
the  times  being  strong  in  the  direction  of  more  science  in 
our  schools ;  in  other  words,  of  that  education  that  will  give 
more  perfect  knowledge  of  ourselves  and  the  world  we  live  in. 

Education  should  be  a  living  thing,  animated  by  modern 
impulses,  molded  by  modern  thought,  and  governed  by 
modern  wants,  and  I  think  the  people  of  the  country  are  to 
be  congratulated  on  the  establishment  of  this  National 
Museum,  which  is  foundecf  on  so  broad  a  bases  that  it  can- 
not fail  to  exert  a  marked  influence  in  promoting  such  edu- 
cation as  I  have  indicated. 


FACTS    AIJOUT    W1:M,    KNOWN    ANIMALS.  Ill 

Again,  the  ordinary  man  of  aflairs  is  vory  apt  to  look 
upon  tlic  study  of  natural  science  as  trivial  because  of  no 
possibk'  use  to  liini  in  his  business.  The  cry  of  ciii  bono  is 
constantly  raised  against  it,  but  ou  equal  grounds  it  might 
be  raised  against  history,  polite  literature,  and  many  other 
studies.  To  those — if  such  there  be  among  my  autlitors — 
who  take  so  narrow  a  view  of  the  subject,  I  would  say  that 
to  the  larger  portion  of  our  population,  wdiich  represent  the 
agricultural  industry  on  which  all  our  prosperity  as  a 
nation  depends,  a  knowledge  of  natural  science  is  of  the  ut- 
most practical  value,  while  to  all  it  will  afford  both  health 
and  pleasure  as  a  recreation  from  the  cark  and  grind  of 
business  life.  In  tins  country,  more  particularly,  the  mind 
of  busy  man  finds  no  relief  in  idleness,  and  on  all  sides  we 
see  men  who,  indifferent  alike  to  the  noblest  works  of  art 
and  the  sul:»limest  teaching  of  nature,  accumulate  fortune 
only  to  find  that  they  are  physical  wrecks  and  mentally  in- 
capable of  deriving  pleasure  or  stimulus  from  anything 
but  still  further  accumulating — slaves,  in  fact,  to  a  sordid 
habit.  How  many  women,  also,  drift  into  a  Sybaritic  life 
and  come  to  find  relief  from  ennui  only  in  one  constant 
round  of  artificial  pleasure  which  ends  too  often  in  mental 
and  physical  misery.  There  is  no  better  prophylactic 
airainst  such  dangers;  no  surer  cure  for  that  tedium  litos 
which  haunts  so  many,  than  the  study  of  natural  science. 
There  is  an  inexpressible  charm  in  animated  nature  for 
those  who  have  learned  to  unlock  her  secrets.  They,  in- 
deed, "  find  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything."  They  see  every- 
where around  and  about  them — in  earth,  air,  sky,  and 
water — volumes  ins[)ircd  by  the  great  author  of  our  being; 
significancies,  harmonies,  causes  and  elfects  that  give  glimp.ses 
of  the  very  thought  of  the  Creator.  1 1 1  Williamson's  words : 
"Those  who  have  the  power  of  understanding  the  wonders 
of  nature  derive  great  hapitiness  from  learning  to  employ  it. 
It  is  like  the  pleasure  which  a  nianof  healthy  and  vigorous 
frame  experiences  in  cUmbing  a  mountain  peak,  and  in  en- 


112  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

joying,  ill  proportion  as  he  rises,  a  wider  and  more  com- 
manding view  of  things  below." 

"  This  is  human  happiness  I 
Its  secret  and  its  evidence  are  writ 
In  the  broad  book  of  nature.     'Tis  to  liave 
Attentive  and  believing  faculties. 
To  go  abroad  rejoicing  in  the  joy 
Of  beautiful  and  well-created  things ; 
To  love  the  voice  of  waters,  and  the  sheen 
Of  silver  fountains  leaping  to  the  sea; 
To  thrill  with  the  rich  melody  of  birds, 
Living  their  life  of  music  ;  to  be  glad 
In  the  gay  sunshine,  reverent  in  the  stonn, 
To  see  a  Ijeauty  in  the  stirring  leaf. 
And  find  calm  thought  beneath  the  whispering  trees ; 
To  see  and  hear  and  breathe  the  evidence 
Of  God's  deep  wisdom  m  the  natural  world  !  " 

I  hope  I  have  said  enough  to  show  that  deep  insight  into 
Nature's  truths  is  not  only  of  practical  value,  but  that  it  is 
in  other  ways  beneficial  and  elevating.  Nor  is  it  satiating ! 
One  never  tires  of  the  recurring  seasons,  and  one  never  tires 
of  any  scientific  research,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  is 
never  any  end,  but  always  something  new  to  learn — some- 
thing more  wonderful  to  unfold. 

Says  Lowell  : 

I  grieve  not  that  ripe  knowledge  takes  away 

The  charm  which  Nature  to  my  childhood  wore. 
For  with  the  insight  Cometh  day  by  day, 

A  greater  bliss  than  wonder  was  before. 
To  win  the  secret  of  a  weed's  plain  heart, 

Reveals  the  clue  to  spiritual  things  ; 
The  soul  which  looks  within  for  truth,  may  guess 

The  presence  of  some  unknown  heavenliness ! 


PAUL  BROCA 
AND  THl'  PRHNCIl  SCHOOL  i)V  ANTHROPOLOGY 


Lecture  delivered    in    tlie  National  Museum,  Washington.  I  >.  C  April    15,  1SS2. 
l.v  Dr.  ROKERT  FLETCHER. 


L.vniKs  .vNi)  Gentlkmkx  : 

You  have  hoard  a  threat  doal  in  thet^e  lalter  days  ol"  llie 
Scicnc-o  of  Aiithropolon;y,  and  wliile  many  of  you,  doubtless, 
havi'  hevu  followinij  its  investigations  and  discoveries  with 
interest  and  profit,  otherswill  l)e  }>rompted  to  inquire:  What 
is  Anthropology,  and  when,  and  hy  whom,  was  it  disc-ovei-cd 
or  invented?  To  the  first  i>art  of  tlic  (pu-stion  it  is  lui- 
neeessary  for  me  to  reply,  as  Professor  Ma.^on,  in  the  .'^eeond 
lecture  of  this  course,  gave  a  lucid  exi)osition  of  what 
constitutes  the  science  in  question:  hut  the  reason  of  its 
existence,  and  the  circumstances  attending  its  establishment 
and  recognition  in  the  scientific  world,  it  is  the  purpose  of 
this  lecture  concisely  to  explain. 

Taking  a  comprehensive  view  of  the  subject,  it  would  be 
correct  to  say  that  anthropology  has  existed  since  the  earliest 
days  of  human  civilization.  Classical  literature  shows 
us  Strabo  and  the  geographers  describing  races — ethnog- 
rapliers :  Galen  and  his  followers  as  anatomists  and  physi- 
cians— biologists,  as  we  should  call  them  now ;  and  Plato 
and  the  metaphysicians  as  psychologists.  We  go  back  to 
Justinian  for  the  first  records  of  an  important  branch  of 
.^ociolotrv,  the  orijrin  of  law.  and  the  technoloiiist  cannot 
afford  to  overlook  \'itruvius  and  X'egetius  in  tracing  out 
the  early  history  of  tools,  arms  and  weapons.  But  it  is  not 
with  the  separate  sciences  which  together  form  what  wc  now 
call  anthropology,  tempting  as  the  subject  is,  that  we  have 
to  do.  for  thi'  theme  is  much  to(»  vast  for  the  time  at  our 
disposal. 

I  must  remind  you  that  the  tirni  itself  has  been  used 
with  very  different  meanings  by  tiie  theologian,  the  anato- 
mist, and  ])hysician.  '*  Journals  of  Anthro|)ology,"  of  which 
there  wt-re  many  in  Germany  a  hundred  years  ago.  were 
mostly  devoted  to  nifdieine  an<l  .surgery.  It-  use  in  its 
present  comprehensive  sense  arose  with  the  establishment 
8  I  " .?  I 


114  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

of  the  Paris  Society  of  Anthropology,  about  twenty-five 
years  ago,  and  its  fitness  for  the  purpose  was  so  manifest 
that  it  lias  superseded  to  a  great  extent  the  narrower  titles 
of  ethnology  and  archaeology.  At  the  present  day  there  are 
Societies  of  Anthropologj^  in  nearly  all  the  capital  cities  of 
the  world.  They  were  all  founded,  more  or  less,  upon  the 
model  of  the  Paris  society,  which  is  acknowledged  as  the 
parent  from  which  this  flourishing  progeny  has  sprung. 

It  will  be  more  convenient  for  our  purpose  to  begin  with 
a  description  of  these  associations  as  they  now  exist,  and 
then,  in  a  brief  biography  of  the  eminent  Frenchman  who 
founded  the  Paris  society,  show  you  in  what  manner  the 
science  of  anthropology  received  its- birth  and  baptism. 

The  fir.st  French  Society  which  made  the  study  of  man- 
kind the  especial  object  of  its  enquiries,  was  founded  in 
Paris  in  the  year  1800,  and  was  known  as  La  societe  des 
observateurs  de  Vliomme — the  Society  of  Observers  of  Man. 
From  their  programme,  and  from  the  meagre  reports  of 
their  transactions  which  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  the 
Magasin  encydopedique,  it  is  evident  that  the  natural  history 
of  man  chiefl}^  occupied  their  attention.  In  1803,  this 
association  was  united  with  The  Philanthropic  Society  {La 
societe  philanthropique)  and  lost  its  scientific  identity.  In 
1838,  there  was  founded  in  London,  under  the  presidency  of 
Sir  Thomas  Fowell  Buxton,  the  leader  of  the  party  advo- 
cating the  abolition  of  slavery  in  British  dominions,  a  Societ}- 
for  the  Protection  of  the  Aborigines.  The  object  of  this 
association  was  political  and  not  scientific,  but  one  of  its 
members,  a  Mr.  Hodgkin,  visited  Paris  a  year  later  for  the 
purpose  of  establishing  a  French  society  on  the  same  basis, 
and  came  into  communication  with  many  eminent  men, 
among  whom  was  the  celebrated  naturalist,  William 
Edwards.  The  attempt  to  found  a  French  abolition  societ}' 
failed,  but  the  interest  excited  in  the  cognate  subject  of  race 
led  Edwards  and  his  friends  to  establish  the  Ethnological 
Society  of  Paris,  (a,)  whose  existence  was  officially  authorized 
by  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  in  August,  1839.  This 
society  published  two  volumes  of  memoirs,  and  one,  of  its 


TArr,    I5KOCA.  1  1.) 

tran.^iu'tions.  The  work  it  ;uliitvcil  was  oxc-elli'iit  in  kind, 
but  its  inc'inbcrsliip  was  never  laij^'o,  and  n<»  ;;i-(;al  <U-;;rco 
of  /cal  was  evinced  hv  those  beloiigin;^  to  it.  In  1.S42,  the 
Anieiican  l>tlinolo;j:it-al  Society  (b)  was  founded  by  Albert 
( lallatin.and  in  bS4l.the  Ktlni<)lo,u:ical  Soeiety  of  J.ondon  (o) 
was  established,  both  after  the  model  of  the  French  Society. 

Possessing"  no  uuiseuiii  tor  the  accumulation  of  specimens, 
the  Kthnolo|[;ieal  Society  of  Paris  devoted  itself  mainly  to 
the  investigation  of  certain  races,  their  habits  and  customs. 
Unfortunately,  too,  for  its  prosperity,  it  toi)k  up  with  great 
heat  the  subject  of  slavery,  which  was  being  fiercely  debated 
in  France  in  the  years  1847-8.  The  society  was  interested 
only  in  the  question  of  race,  and  of  the  single  or  multiple 
origin  of  mankind,  but  an  absurd  belief  became  general 
that  ethnology  was,  in  some  mysterious  manner,  another 
name  lor  abolitionism,  and  this  prejudice  survived  to  be  an 
obstacle  in  the  establishment  of  the  Anthropological  Society, 
ten  vears  iatei'. 

What  tlie  circumstances  were  that  led  to  the  foundation: 
of  the  latter  society,  through  what  discouragements  and 
obstructions  it  forced  its  way  onward,  and  what  success  was 
at  last  achieved,  will  be  described  in  the  biographic  sketch 
of  Broca  which  will  be  presently  attempted. 

The  time  was  ripejor  the  undertaking.  The  society  was 
established  in  183U,  {d,}  and  in  the  years  immediately  i)re- 
ceding  rapid  advances  had  been  made  in  the  various 
branches  of  knowledge  which  constitute  anthropology.  In 
England,  Davis  and  Thurnam  had  Ijegun  their  great  work, 
the  Crania  Britannica  :  inSwe(len,  Ret/.ius  was  carrying  on 
his  remarkable  studies  in  craniology  ;  Morton,  of  Pliiladel- 
j)hia,  having  ama.s.sed  the  collection  of  skulls  which  was, 
for  many  years,  the  richest  craniological  collection  in  the 
world,  had  produced  his  important  work,  the  Crania  Amer- 
icana. Boucher  de  Perthes,  after  eighteen  j'cars  of  labor  in 
the  quaternary  deposits  of  Abbeville,  had  at  last  triumphed 
over  ridicule  and  malice,  and  had  .^een  his  proofs  of  the 
great  anti([uity  of  man  accepted  by  the  leading  paheontol- 
ogists  of  the  world.      In   Demnark.  the   Kitchen-middens, 


IIG  SATURDAY    LIX'TUEES. 

those  sileiit  chronologieal  iveords  of  the  devouring-  appetite 
and  j)rogressive  luxury  of  primeval  man,  had  been  explored 
and  described  by  AVorstiae  and  Thomsen.  Tn  Switzerland, 
the  unusual  subsidence  of  the  waters  of  the  lakes  had 
brought  to  light  the  relics  of  the  lake-dwellers;  and,  not 
less  memorable,  on  the  24th  November,  1S59,  there  appeared 
in  London  a  modest  looking  volume  which  has  probably 
exerted  more  influence  on  scientific  workers  than  any  one 
book  ever  i)ublished — its  title  was  :  The  Origin  of  Species, 
by  Charles  Darwin. 

Prof.  Huxley,  speaking  of  this  occurrence  twenty  years 
later,  said : 

"  It  was  only  subsequent  to  the  publiqation  of  the  ideas 
contained  in  that  book  that  one  of  the  most  powerful  in- 
struments for  the  advance  of  anthropological  knowledge— 
namely,  the  Anthroi)ological  Society  of  Paris— was  found- 
ed ;  afterward,  the  Anthropological  Institute  of  this  country 
and  the  great  Anthropological  Society  of  Berlin  came 
into  existence,  until  it  may  be  said  fhat,  now,  there  is 
not  a  branch  of  science  which  is  represented  by  a  larger  or 
more  active  body  of  w^orkers  than  the  science  of  anthropol- 
ogy. But  the  whole  of  these  workers  are  engaged,  more  or 
less  intentionally,  in  providing  the  data  for  attacking  the 
ultimate  great  problem,  whether  the  ideas  which  Darwin  has 
put  forward,  in  regard  to  the  animal  world,  are  capable  of 
being  applied  in  the  same  sense,  and  to  the  same  extent,  to 
man.     That  question,  I  need  not  say,  is  not  answered." 

It  may  seem  almost  sui)erfiuous  to  explain  the  allusion  to 
the  lake-dwellings  and  the  kitchen-middens,  but  some  of 
the  younger  members  of  this  audience  may  be  glad  to  learn 
what  is  meant  by  those  terms. 

In  Switzerland  the  winters  of  ISolJ  and  1854  proved  to  be 
so  dry  and  cold  that  the  usual  spring  freshets  in  the  rivers 
were  ^vanting,  and  the  level  of  tlie  water  in  the  great  lakes 
was  lower  than  had  ever  before  been  recorded.  Accident 
led  to  the  discovery  of  some  ancient  piles,  and  other  evi- 
dences of  man's  work.  The  result  of  long-continued  inves- 
tigations may  be  briefly  stated,  as  follows  :  The  Pfahlbauten, 
or  pile-works  of  Switzerland,  were  villages  built  on  piles 


rAlI,    I'.KitCA.  1 17 

ilrivi'ii  into  tlir  water  on  [\iv  ed^csot"  the  lakes.  'I'licy  coni- 
nuinicateil  with  \\\o  hind  hy  one  or  more  hridixes,  and  there 
is  no  doiiht  that  iK'I'enee  auainsf  Aviid  animals  as  well  as 
hnnian  enemies  was  the  motive  lor  this  method  of  ereetin^' 
habitations.  The  tlehris  of  the  ln»usehold  neces.saril}'  fell 
into  the  water,  toy,ether  with  tools,  weapons  and  ornaments, 
and  thousands  of  sm-h  artieles  have  been  recovered  from  the 
soil  of  the  lakes  around  these  idles,  to<^ether  with  the  bones 
of  animals  which  had  served  for  food.  The  larger  number 
of  these  pile-works  were  erected  during  the  stone  age,  before 
the  use  of  metal  was  known  to  man ;  but  in  Western 
Switzerland  the  remains  belong  to  the  bronze  age,  vast 
numbers  of  bronze  imi)lenu'nts  and  ornajnents  having  been 
recovered  from  them.  From  one  settlement  alone  500 
bronze  hair-pins,  such  as  peasant  women  adorn  their  hair 
with,  were  obtained.  Troyon  has  made  an  estimate  of  the 
poi>ulation  of  tliese  lake-dwellings;  his  figures  are  32,000 
for  the  stone  age^  and  42,000  for  the  bronze  period.  The 
addition  to  our  knowledge  of  pre-historic  man  obtained 
from  these  Pfahlbauten  has  been  of  incalculable  value. 

Accident,  in  like  manner,  drew  attention  to  the  real  im- 
port of  certain  shell-heaps  in  Denmark.  They  had  been 
regarded  as  raised  beaches,  the  results  of  upheaval ;  but 
with  such  an  origin  the  shell-tish  must  necessarily  have  been 
of  kinds  which  would  live  together.  They  would  be  of  all 
sizes,  and  would  be  mi.xed  with  sand  and  gravel.  In  the 
•shell-heai»s  —  now  known  as  kitchen-middens,  from  the 
Danish  Ki<')kkenmodding,  kitchen-refuse  heaps — the  shells 
are  nearly  all  of  full-grown  individuals,  and  ot'  kinds  which 
do  not  live  together,  and  no  .sand  or  gravel  was  found  in 
them.  Flint  implements  and  bones  of  animals,  binls  and 
tishes  abound  in  them,  and  it  became  evident  that  these 
shell-heaps  had  been  sites  of  villages  of  neolithic  man,  and 
that  the  shells  and  other  remains  had  accunudated  in  con- 
sequence. Results  as  interesting  as  those  obtained  from  the 
exploration  of  the  lake-dwellings  followed,  and  the  museums 
of  Copenhagen  are  rich  with  the  spoils  of  the  kitchen-mid- 
dens. Similar  shell-heaps  have  been  found  in  almost  all 
countries. 


118  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

It  was  under  the  auspices  thus  outlined  that  the  Society 
of  Anthropology  of  Paris  began  its  career.  Its  success  was 
assured  as  the  Cjuality  of  its  work  became  known,  and  within 
ten  years,  in  all  the  chief  kingdoms  of  Europe,  societies  of 
like  purpose  were  organized,  and  are  in  the  full  tide  of 
j)rosperity  and  active  occupation  at  the  present  day. 

And  here  it  may  be  well  to  ex]5lain  why  the  term  "  ethnol- 
ogy" has  been  so  generally  superseded  by  the  term  "an- 
thropology." The  former,  as  you  are  aware,  is  the  science 
which  treats  of  the  races  of  men.  Linnaeus  and  Buffon 
were  its  chief  founders,  but  Blumenbach  moulded  it  into 
the  shape  which  it  yet  preserves.  It  is  to  him  that  we  owe 
the  five  divisions  of  the  human  race  which  still  maintain 
their  place  in  our  school-books,  though  they  have  long  since 
been  discarded  from  scientific  description.  Ethnology 
classifies  mankind  according  to  certain  resemblances  of 
features,  color,  hair,  dress,  weapons,  and  the  like ;  anthropol- 
ogy takes  his  anatomical  structure  as  the  basis  of  comparison. 
Broca,  speaking  of  the  two,  says  :  "  Ethnologists  regard  man 
as  the  primitive  element  of  tribes,  races,  and  peoples. 
The  anthropologist  looks  at  him  as  a  member  of  the  fauna 
of  the  globe,  belonging  to  a  zoological  classification,  and 
subject  to  the  same  laws  as  the  rest  of  the  animal  kingdom. 
To  study  him  from  the  last  point  of  view  only  would  be  to 
lose  sight  of  some  of  his  most  interesting  and  practical  re- 
lations ;  but  to  be  confined  to  the  ethnologist's  views  is  to 
set  aside  the  scientific  rule  which  requires  us  to  proceed 
from  the  simple  to  the  compound,  from  the  known  to  the 
unknown,  from  the  material  and  organic  fact  to  the  functional 
phenomena." 

You  were  told  in  a  preceding  lecture  that  ten  distinct 
sciences  were  included  under  the  name  of  anthropology; 
ethnology,  much  shorn  of  its  significance,  being  one  of  them. 
You  will  see  then  that  the  more  comprehensive  term  was 
necessary  to  indicate  the  scope  of  the  investigations  pursued. 

I  propose  next  to  give  you  a  succinct  account  of  the 
societies  which  Avere  founded  after  the  model  of  the  Paris 
association. 


TAT  I.    r.Kol'A.  irj 

In  18(U.  l\uilt»l|)li  Wiimicr  of  (}(')ttiii^cii  and  Di-Iiai-r  of 
St.  Petersburgh  organi/.id  a  (lorman  Anthropological  Asso- 
ciation, {(',)  which  was  tt)  nici-t  every  sccoml  year  in  a 
German  city.  Its  lirst  meeting  was  held  at  (iiHtingcn,  hut 
the  death  ol'  Warner,  which  took  place  soon  after.  interru|'ted 
its  further  progress. 

In  1S63,  arose  the  Anthro]>ulogieal  Society  of  London  (/.) 
It  was  formed  l)y  the  secession  of  a  large  number  of  mem- 
bers of  the  I'^thnological  Society,  and  speedily  became  so 
successful  that  it  at  one  time  numbered  800  members.  It 
continued  to  exist  under  its  original  title  until  1871,  when 
the  Ethnological  Society  consented  to  unite  itself  with  its 
ambitious  oiispring  and  the  designation  assumed  by  the 
united  associations  was:  The  Anthropological  In.stitute  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland  (g.)  The  Ethnological  Society 
published  13  volumes  of  Transactions;  the  Anthropological 
Society  published  *->  volumes,  and  the  Journal  of  the  An- 
thropological Institute  has  now  entered  on  its  twelfth  year. 

In  1805,  the  Anthropological  Society  of  Madrid  (h)  was 
established,  its  first  meeting  being  held  on  December  17. 
Owing  to  political  complications,  so  common  in  that  un- 
happy country,  and  to  the  opposition  of  the  jtricsthood,  no 
further  meetings  were  permitted,  and  the  Society,  which 
had  attained  a  membership  of  300,  continued  in  a  languish- 
ing condition  until  February,  18G9,  when  its  second  meeting 
took  place. 

In  Moscow,  in  186G,  the  Society  of  the  Friends  of  Nature 
{i)  established  a  .section  of  anthropology.  Endowed  with 
ample  revenues  this  .section  has  been  as  efficient  as  if  it  had 
been  an  inde|)endent  society.  It  possesses  a  valuable  museum 
and.  in  18()7.  a  brilliant  exposition  of  anthropology  took 
phuH'  under  its  management. 

In  18G8,  the  Berlin  Society  (tf  Anihroi)ology  (/»  was  or- 
ganized and  speedily  attained  foremost  rank  from  thr  im- 
jtortance  and  extent  of  its  investigations.  Vinhow,  the 
illustrious  physiologist,  statesman  and  .scholar,  still  presides 
over  its  meetings.  The  Society  publishes  the  .lournal  of 
Ethnology. 


120  SATUltDAY    LECTURES. 

In  1870,  the  Anthropological  Society  of  Vienna  (1)  was 
founded,  and  at  their  first  meeting,  February  13,  the  open- 
ing address  was  delivered  by  Rokitansky.  The  fSociet}^ 
publishes  its  own  transactions. 

Ital}^  was  next  to  continue  the  good  work,  and,  in  1871, 
was  established  the  Italian  Society  of  Anthropology  and  Eth- 
nology {m.)  Their  transactions  are  reported  in  the  Archives 
of  Anthropology  and  Ethnology,  a  monthly  journal,  hand- 
somely illustrated,  which  is  published  at  Florence  under  the 
editorship  of  Mantegazza. 

In  1871,  in  the  city  of  Xew  York,  there  was  founded  a 
society  known  as  the  Anthropological  Institute  of  New 
York  (n.)  Its  sole  work  was  the  publication  of  its  Journal, 
"Whom  the  Gods  love,  die  young,"  says  the  Greek  proverb  : 
the  "  Journal  of  the  Anthropological  Institute  of  New  York" 
must  have  been  the  especial  object  of  celestial  regard  as  it 
expired  with  its  first  number. 

In  1877,  Poland  entered  the  field,  and  the  Academy  of 
Sciences  of  Cracow  (o)  established  a  section  of  anthropology 
which  publishes  its  own  journal. 

In  1879,  the  Anthropological  Society  of  Washington,  D. 
C,  ip,)  Avas  founded,  and  has  continued  to  thrive. 

During  the  present  3^ear,  Dr.  Aurele  de  Torek,  of  Hun- 
gary, who  had  been  for  some  time  studying  at  the  Paris 
school,  was  placed  in  charge  of  a  section  of  anthropology  in 
the  University  of  Buda-Pesth,  with  instructions  to  form  a 
museum. 

There  are  many  subordinate  societies  besides  those  de- 
scribed; they  are  generally  affiliated  with  the  societies  of 
the  capitals.  For  example,  there  is  an  Anthropological 
Society  at  Liverpool,  another  at  Oxford,  another  at  ^lan- 
chester ;  one  at  Lyons,  one  at  Bordeaux,  and  even  in  the 
Isle  of  iNLan  there  is  a  section  of  anthropology  in  the  Manx 
Society  of  Sciences. 

Another  important  result  of  the  interest  felt  in  these  pur- 
suits has  been  the  organizing  of  congresses  of  anthropol- 
ogy, meeting  in  different  cities  at  .stated  intervals. 

There  is  the  German  Association  for  Anthropology  (g) 


r.M  I     i;i;ttcA. 


IJl 


loan. led  in  1S70;  tluir  lirst  iii.-ct in-- was  held  in  l)crlin.  an<l 
tlu'ir  transactions  appear  in  a  goodly  (juarto,  the  Ardiivrs 
lor  AnthroiK)lo<2;y,  imltlishcd  at  lirunswick. 

But  tlie  most  important  coiij^ress.  in  vi<\v  of  its  achitvc- 
monts.  is  the  International  Congress  of  Antliropolo.iry,  and 
Pro-lnstorie  Arelueology  (/••)  Their  lirst  meet in.^-  was  held 
at  NeutVhatel  in  ISC.C;  the  seeond  at  Paris  in  iSf.T;  the 
third  at  Xorwieh.  Knuland.  in  18()S;  the  fourth  at  (  opeii- 
haoen  in  1800;  the  lifth  at  IJologna  in  1871  ;  the  sixth  at 
Brussels  in  1872:  the  seventh  at  Stoekholm  in  1874;  the 
eij^hth  at  Buda-Pesth  in  1870;  and  the  ninth  at  Lishon  in 
1880.  I  believe  the  next  meeting  is  to  be  held  at  Venice 
this  year.  The  transactions  of  this  association  are  published 
after  each  congress. 

Finally,  it  must  be  added  that  the  British  Association  for 
the  Advancement  of  Science,  after  much  contention,  ha.s 
establi.shed  a  .section  of  anthropology.  The  French  Asso- 
ciation of  the  same  name  began  with  such  a  -eetion  as  j)art 
of  its  original  organization. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  my  hearers  are  rea.sonably  grateful 
that  this  dry  enumeration  of  societies  and  their  productions 
has  come  to  an  end  ;  but  it  has  been  shown  that  all  of  these 
associations,  congresses  and  sections  owe  their  origin  to  the 
Paris  School  of  Anthropology,  and  as  that  school,  in  its 
turn,  derived  its  very  existence  from  the  genius  and  energy 
of  one  man,  we  are  brought  naturally  to  the  point  where  a 
sketch  of  the  life  and  work  of  the  founder  of  European  an- 
thropology comes  properly  into  our  jdan. 

Piqrre  Paul  Broca  was  l)orn  at  b'ainte  Foix-la-Grande,  in 
182i.  The  town  which  announces  it.self  to  the  world  under 
this  pretentious  title  is  situated  in  the  department  of  the 
(iironde,  on  the  bank  <»f  tlu'  Dordogne,  forty  miles  from 
Bonleaux,  and  contains  ai>out  1,000  inhabitants.  It  was 
the  birthplace  al.so  of  Gratiolet,  ilistingui^heii.  like  Broca, 
in  anthropology  as  well  as  in  medicine. 

It  is  always  interesting,  and.  indeed,  e.s.sential  to  the  due 
estimation  of  a  distinguished  man,  to  state  what  may  be 


122  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

known  of  his  parentage,  and  of  what  it  is  now  the  fashion 
to  call  his  earl}^  environments. 

Broca's  father,  Dr.  Benjamin  Broca,  was  an  army  surgeon, 
and  had  served  throughout  the  memorable  war  in  Spain 
under  the  first  Napoleon.  The  campaigns  over,  he  returned 
to  his  native  town  where  he  married  and  settled  down  to 
practice  his  profession.  He  was  a  man  of  marked  traits  of 
character ;  of  unflinching  probity  and  courage,  and  charit- 
able to  an  extreme. '  From  him  his  son  derived  his  taste  for 
the  natural  sciences  as  well  as  a  grave  irony  which  charac- 
terized them  both  The  son  used  to  quote  an  ironical  re- 
mark of  his  father's  which  is  amusing  enough  to  be  related. 
The  elder  Broca  flourished  in  the  time  when  the  doctrines 
of  Broussais  attained  such  astonishing  popularity,  and 
blood-letting  and  rigorous  diet  were  the  treatment  in  vogue. 
Against  these  views.  Dr.  Broca  fought  valiantly,  and  it  is 
told  of  him  that  after  a  consultation  over  a  patient  prostra- 
ted with  typhoid  fever,  hearing  the  physician  in  charge 
prescribe,  as  the  only  nutriment,  a  broth  to  be  made  of  frog's 
feet,  Broca  turned  back  from  the  doorway  and  said,  "  and 
above  all  things,  be  sure  to  skim  off  the  fat ! " 

Dr.  Broca,  senior,  acquired  a  large  country  practice,  but 
which  was  not  very  lucrative,  for  his  rule  was  to  charge  the 
rich  but  little,  while  to  the  poor  he  gave  his  services  and 
paid  for  their  medicines.  When,  in  later  years,  after  the 
death  of  his  wife,  he  removed  to  Paris  to  reside  in  the  house 
of  his  distinguished  son,  the  whole  country  round  was  in 
sorrow  for  his  loss,  and  his  indigent  clientage  presented  him 
with  a  silver-gilt  cup  inscribed  "  To  the  physician  of  the 
poor." 

An  amusing  story  is  still  told  in  Sainte-Foix  of  this 
excellent  man  which  exemplifies  his  unfeiling  benevolence. 
At  a  late  hour,  one  cold  and  dark  winter  night,  a  peasant 
requested  him  to  visit  a  person  taken  seriously  ill,  in  a 
distant  hamlet.  The  good  doctor  left  his  comfortable  fire- 
side without  hesitation  and  accompanied  the  man  along  a 
lonely  pathway,  inaccessible  to  all  but  pedestrians.  Arriv- 
ing, at  length,  at  a  small  cluster  of  cottages,  the  man  turned 


I'.Vn.    HKdCA.  12.'> 

to  him  and  >aitl,  "Many  thanks,  doctor.  You  sec;  I  was 
afraid  to  come  along  tliese  lonely  heaclics  by  mysoir,  in  (he 
middle  of  the  night,  so  I  invented  the  little  story  of  the 
silk  person  to  get  you  to  come  with  me;  nuich  obliged  for 
yuur  comjtany."  And  the  fellow  disai)i)eared  in  the  dark- 
ness, K'aving  the  doctor  to  return  us  best  he  could. 

I  liave  been  told  by  Dr.  Ford  Thomp.son  of  this  city  that 
when  in  Taris  attending  theclinique  under  Professor  Broea 
at  the  ho.spital  of  La  Pitic.  he  wasjstruck  with  the  a])pear- 
ance  of  an  aged  gentleman  who,  with  edifying  punctuality, 
formed  one  of  the  large  class  which  followed  the  professor 
through  the  wards.  Tliis  venerable  man  would  listen  with 
cijual  interest  and  admiration  to  the  luminous  explanations, 
the  subtle  diagnosis,  or  the  fecund  illustrations  which  the 
accomplished  surgeon  would  give  utterance  to,  at  the  bedside- 
This  was  Dr.  Broca,  the  father,  finding  his  chief  enjoyment, 
in  tlu'  evening  of  his  days,  in  watching  the  daily  work  of 
the  son  who  had  so  far  outstripjK'd  him  in  fame. 

Broca 's  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  Protestant  preacher, 
named  Thomas.  She  was  an  excellent  woman,  of  great 
intelligence,  and  endowed  with  a  lu'odigious  memory.  This 
latter  quality  was  inheriteil  by  her  .son.  The  Brocas  were 
of  old  Huguenot  stock,  and  traditions  were  rife  among  them 
of  the  persecutions  which  the  grandfather  and  great-grant  1- 
father  had  suflfered  in  the  days  of  the  drarjonnades. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  his  early  training  by  the  kind, 
manly  father  and  the  clear-sighted  .sensible  mother,  together 
with  the  traditions  of  their  family  hi.story.  bred  in  the  young 
Paul  the  courageous  love  of  truth  and  hatred  of  injustice 
and  oppression  which  marked  his  entire  career. 

Ill  ls;;-J.  he  entered  the  college  of  Saintc-Foix  which  was. 
at  that  time,  the  re.sort  of  the  dlite  of  the  Protestant  youth 
of  France.  Some  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the 
reformed  ciiurch  were  educated  atiSainte-Foix  ;  among  whom 
were  >ronod,  Coquerel,  an<l  Pressense.  When  .seventeen 
years  old,  Paul  Broca  obtained  the  three  di])lomasof  baclu-- 
lor  of  letters,  mathematics,  and  physical  sciences.  In  184"2, 
he   presented  himself   for  examination  at  the  Polvteehnic 


124  SATUKUAY    LIX'TURES. 

School,  intending  to  make  physical  sciences  the  Ijasis  of  his 
future  work,  but  his  father,  loth  to  see  his  own  practice  lost 
to  the  family,  persuaded  his  son  to  adopt  medicine  as  his 
profession.  An  additional  motive  for  his  compliance  was 
the  recent  death  of  his  only  sister,  a  very  lovely  girl  of  great 
promise,  whose  loss  made  the  parental  home  very  lonel5'. 
Broca  did  not  trouble  himself  about  his  career  ;  he  used  to 
say,  in  after  life,  that  in  any  occupation,  he  could  have 
made  such  a  place  as  his  abilities  merited ;  and  with  his 
healthy  organization  and  unparalleled  capacity  for  work,  it 
is  probable  that  he  was  right. 

He  went  to  Paris,  and  entered  liis  name  at  the  Faculty  of 
Medicine,  and  thus  began  a  career  unequalled  for  the  rapidity 
of  its  progress.  In  1S43,  he  became  an  extern e  at  the 
hospitals,  and  in  1844,  he  became  an  interne.  He  was  then 
twenty  years  of  age,  a  period  at  which  most  students  of 
medicine  have  only  entered  themselves.  In  1848,  he  became 
prosector  of  anatomy,  and  obtained  the  silver  medal  of  tlio 
Public  Assistance.  He  graduated  as  Doctor  of  Medicine  in 
1849 ;  the  Academy  of  Medicine  decreed  him  the  Portal 
prize  in  1850,  and,  in  1853,  he  was  i\amed  Assistant  Prof- 
fessor  of  the  Faculty  of  Medicine,  and  Surgeon  of  the 
Central  Bureau,  being  then  only  twenty-nine  years  old. 

In  1847,  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Anatomical 
Societ}'  of  Paris,  and  for  many  years  he  was  the  most  active 
of  the  distinguished  young  men  who  raised  thnt  society  to 
its  present  pre-eminence.  His  researches  into  the  histology 
of  cartilage  and  bone,  with  the  aid  of  the  microscope,  of 
the  use  of  which  in  anatomical  researches  he  was  one  of 
the  strongest  advocates,  have  remained  unsurpassed  of  their 
kind  to  the  present  day. 

In  the  Society  of  Surgery  he  was  equally  active,  and  its 
transactions  bear  witness  to  his  zealous  labors. 

It  is  not  within  the  scope  of  this  lecture  to  describe  his 
surgical  or  physiological  work ;  the  general  result,  in  the 
number  of  his  productions,  will  be  given  at  the  close.  It 
must  be  said,  however,  that  his  brilliant  investigations  into 
the  localities  of  the  functions  of  the  brain  led  the  way  to 


I'Aii,  miocA.  125 

the  discoveries  mikI  ajiplicjitions  of  Ilitzig,  Femer,  and 
Charcot ;  of  his  hu«icr  works,  the  Treatise  on  Tumors,  and 
the  Treatise  oil  Aneurisms,  still  hold  foremost  rank.  liroca's 
devotion  ti»  anthropological  studies,  duriujLC  the  last  twenty 
years  of  his  life,  have  tended  to  overshadow  his  work  in 
surgery  and  j>liysi(tloi::y.  A  _ij;oo<1  judm*  said  of  him,  that  in 
no  eoiuitry  or  aui'  had  any  man  of  thiity  produced  so  much 
of  value  in  surnerv  as  he. 

lie  was  associated  with  l>eau  and  rxmamy  in  the  pro- 
du<tion  (tf  their  si)lendi(l  Atlas  of  De-^eriptive  Anatomy, 
and  the  third  voluim-  of  that  work.  comiM-j^in^  s]ilan(hnol- 
ojiy,  is  entirely  his  work. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  .^ay  that  thi>  hrilliant  com- 
mencement of  his  career  soon  .settled  the  question  of  his 
return  to  the  hanks  of  the  Dordoijjne.  The  father  was 
•proud  of  his  son's  success,  and  the  <;ood  mother,  when  told 
of  liis  achievements,  sacrificed  her  own  wishes,  as  motliers 
do,  and  .said,  "my  pride  is  gratified,  hut  not  my  heart." 

Honors  continued  to  How  in  ujton  him.  He  was  made 
secretary  and  then  vice-president  of  the  Anatomical  Society; 
secretary  and  then  president  of  the  .Society  of  Surgery.  The 
Academy  of  Medicine  a<lmitted  him  in  ISO*};  he  was  their 
vice-pre.sident  in  ISSO,  and  president-elect  for  18M.  In 
l.SrjT,  the  Faculty  of  Medicine  appointed  him  to  the  chair 
of  pathology  which  he  exchanged  for  that  <if  ilinii;il  sur- 
gery. 

It  remains  now  to  speak  of  BrocaV  connection  with  the 
Society  of  Anthropology  of  Paris.  II.e  was  its  founder  and, 
in  the  words  of  one  of  his  jianc^gyrists,  "the  very  soul  of  it 
for  one  and  twenty  years." 

In  1.S47.  he  was  one  of  a  commission  appointed  i>>  rx- 
amine  the  bones  discovered  in  excavations  made  in  the 
ancient  church  of  the  C'elestins.  In  drawing  up  this  re- 
]»ort,  (which  was  afterwards  puldished  in  the  first  volume 
of  his  Memoirs  on  Anthropology.)  he  was  led  to  read  all  the 
hooks  he  could  find,  and  they  were  not  many,  ujX)n  the  sub- 
ject of  craniology.  In  those  days  ethnology  was  confined 
to  a  narrow  circle  of  iiKp.iiry.  chiefly  to  debates  upon  mon- 


326  SATUKDAY    LECTURES. 

ogeny  and  polygeny,  or  tlie  doctrine  of  the  origin  of  the 
human  race  from  one  source  or  from  many.  The  Ethno- 
logical Society  of  Paris,  founded,  as  I  have  before  stated, 
by  William  Edwards,  having  ended  its  discussions  upon 
this  subject,  and  finding  nothing  more  to  say,  itself  came 
to  an  end  in  1848.  Ten  years  later,  Broca,  who  had  arrived 
at  some  conclusions  upon  human  hybridity  which  he  de- 
sired to  make  known,  communicated  them  to  the  Society  of 
Biology.  But  the  3'oung  discoverer  had  yet  to  learn  what 
jmsillanimity  could  do  to  retard  investigation.  His  re- 
markable memoir  demonstrated  the  unlimited  fecundity  of 
human  hybrids,  and  as  this  was  opposed  to  the  doctrines  of 
the  monogenists,  Rayer,  the  President  of  the  Society,  re- 
Cjuested  Broca  to  desist  from  further  communications.  The 
memoir  "  On  animal  hybridity  in  general,  and  on  human 
hybridity  in  particular,"  was  published  in  the  Journal  de. 
la  physiologie.  It  was  afterward  translated  by  Dr.  Carter 
Blake  for  the  London  Society  of  Anthropology,  and  was 
published  in  their  memoirs.  This  condition  of  things  made 
it  evident  that  a  new  society  was  needed,  and  Broca  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  a  Society  of  Anthropology. 

Broca's  plan  was  to  start  with  not  less  than  twenty  mem- 
bers. Six  from  the  Society  of  Biology  joined  him,  but 
others,  including  the  members  of  the  defunct  Society  of 
Ethnology,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  his  solicitations.  After  a 
year's  efforts,  he  had  onl}^  nineteen  signatures,  including  his 
own.  He  met  with  every  obstacle  from  those  in  authority ; 
M.  Rouland,  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction,  sent  him  to 
the  Prefect  of  Police,  who,  in  turn,  sent  him  to  the  Minister 
of  Public  Instruction.  Their  purpose  was  to  weary  him 
out,  for  with  the  perspicacity  usual  in  such  functionaries, 
they  firmly  believed  that  the  novel  term,  anthropology, 
covered  some  form  of  political  conspiracy.  Finally,  thanks 
to  the  intervention  of  Professor  Tardieu,  a  chief  of  division  of 
the  prefecture  of  police  was  induced  to  authorize  the  nineteen 
to  form  their  society  and  hold  meetings.  He  held  Broca, 
however,  personally  responsible- for  anything  which  might 
be  said  by  his  associates  which  should  appear  to  be  an 


PA  11.   i;kuca.  '  127 

attack  upon  government,  i('li<.jion,  or  social  order;  and,  to 
ensure  the  realization  ol"  these  prudent  precautions,  ho 
directed  that  a  police  officer,  in  plain  clothes,  should  attend 
each  meet  inu"  and  report  to  the  prefect  the  teiuiie  of, the 
proceedings. 

Does  not  this  sound  as  it'  we  were  diseoursing  of  somc- 
tiiing  that  took  ])lace  under  Louis  (piatorze,  or  IMiilip  the 
second?  And  yet  it  occurred  in  our  own  day,  .■^onie  twenty 
years  ago,  in  the  most  civilized  city  of  Paris.  We  are  ac- 
customed io  look  upon  our  own  absolute  freedom  in  such 
atiairs  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  it  may  not  be  unjJroHtable 
to  occasionally  stop  to  consider  it  in  the  light  of  comparison. 

It  was  under  the  conditions  described  that  the  Society  of 
Anthropology  of  Paris  held  its  first  meeting,  on  the  10th 
May,  1859.  The  woi-<l  anthropology  was  substituted  for 
ethnology  to  show  the  far  wider  scope  proposed.  It  in- 
cluded, in  effect,  the  entire  natural  history  of  the  human 
race,  whether  in  the  present,  in  the  past,  in  its  general  char- 
acters, in  its  subdivisions  into  races  or  varieties,  in  its  oriirin, 
or  in  its  relations  with  the  rest  of  nature.  This  ])rogramme 
comitrehended  not  only  ethnology,  or  the  .study  of  human 
races,  but  anthropology,  or  the  study  of  mankind.  It  in- 
cluded, also,  a  great  number  of  auxiliary  sciences:  zoology, 
comjnirative  anatomy,  geology.  i>alieontologv,  prehistoric 
and  protohistoric  arclueolog}',  linguistics,  mythology,  his- 
tory, psychology,  and  medicine  itself  And  as  among  all 
these  diverse  and  divergent  studies  it  was  necessary  to  es- 
tablish some  central  basis,  the  founders  of  the  society,  who 
were  all  young  physicians,  determined,  in  accordance  witli 
the  views  of  their  leader,  to  select  that  which  is  most  fixed 
in  man,  namely,  his  organization  and  functions;  in  a  word, 
his  anatomy  and  i)hysiol(>gy. 

With  such  a  va.st  field  before  it,  there  was  no  reason  to 
fear  that  the  new  .society  would  perish  for  want  of  susten- 
ance like  its  predecessor,  the  Society  of  Ethnology.  As  its 
programme  became  known,  new  mend)ers  eagerly  joine<l  it, 
and  when  the  first  vohnne  of  its  bulletins  was  j»ul»lished, 
the  detiance  and  distrust  which  it  had  excited  rafiidlv  sub- 


1 


128  SATUKDAY    LKCTfEES. 

sided.  M.  Rouland,  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction, 
deigned  to  authorize  it  in  18G1,  cand,  in  18G4,  it  was  recog- 
nized formall)^  as  a  society  of  pubhc  utihty,  by  a  decree  of 
the  Council  of  State.  After  this  date,  the  attendance  of  the 
special  police  agent  at  its  meetings  was  discontinued. 

During  the  first  three  years  of  the  existence  of  the  society, 
Broca  filled  the  office  of  secretary.  It  was  a  burdensome 
task  for  a  man  of  his  numerous  avocations  to  undertake, 
but  it  was  of  the  highest  importance  that  the  transactions 
of  the  3"oung  society  should  be  edited  with  talent  and  ap- 
pear with  punctuality.  He  excelled  in  the  difficult  art  of 
giving  the  integral  meaning,  but  without  prolixity,  of  Avhat 
was  said  in  the  ardor  of  debate.  He  was  skillful  in  ignor- 
ing the  common-places  of  the  chronic  speaker ;  the  man 
who  always  "  rises  to  give  his  views,"  though  he  has  gene- 
rally nothing  to  communicate.  These  comptes  rendus  are 
master-pieces  of  their  kind,  especially  when  it  is  considered 
that  they  were  written  from  memory',  for  he  took  too  active 
a  part  in  discussion  to  have  time  to  take  notes. 

In  1863,  the  increase  of  the  Society  made  it  necessary  to 
appoint  a  General  Secretary,  electable  for  three  j^ears ;  Broca 
held  the  office  till  his  death.  Professor  Pozzi  sa^^s,  "  Broca 
was  the  soul  of  the  Society  of  Anthropology.  •  It  was  he 
who  founded  it,  he  who  made  it  live  through  its  first  trying 
3'ears,  and  that  by  the  })reponderating  influence  of  his 
incessant  labor  and  the  communicable  ardor  of  his  love  for 
the  growing  science.  The  povrerful  influence  of  Broca, 
especially  visible  at  the  beginning  of  its  career,  was  not  less 
real  to  the  very  close,  in  spite  of  the  care  which  he  took  to 
avoid  the  appearance  of  personal  control.  Even  when  he 
abstained  from  taking  part  in  any  irritating  debate,  his 
attitude,  the  few  words  which  might  escape  him,  his  vote, 
infallibly  indicated  to  doubting  minds,  upon  which  side 
reason,  moderation,  and  justice  were  to  be  found." 

Upon  the  establisment  of  his  Society,  Broca  began  a 
craniological  collection  and,  thanks  to  the  surgeons  of  the 
navy,  with  whom  he  kept  up  an  active  correspondence,  it 
soon    attained    respectable    dimensions.      Nevertheless,   a 


r.MI.    I'.IIOCA. 


129 


musruni  raniiot  Ik-  well  luaiiilaiiictl  witluiut  a  lahoratory, 
and  tlu-  (liffirultic's  in  the  way  of  ohtaiiiiii.u  tlic  latter  were 
vi'iy  mvat,  fur  tlic  law  Ibrbadc  the  takiu;;  Mibjci-is  for 
<lissvction  anywhere  exeej)!  to  the  rooms  of  the  l-'aciiliy  of 
Medieine.  In  1S(^>7,  however,  IJroea  was  nominated  as  one 
of  the  professors  of  the  Faeulty  of  Medieine  and  the  dilH- 
eultv  was  solved.  He  was  entitled  to  a  lal»oratory  lor  his 
personal  investigations,  and  two  small  rooms  were  assij^iied 
liim  for  the  i>uri)ose.  It  was  here,  with  M.  Ilamy  for  ids 
as.sistani.  that  he  began  his  researehes  in  the  eomparative 
anatomy  of  the  primates.  It  wa<  here,  too,  that  lie  invented 
manv  ingenious  instruments  to  be  employed  in  eraniometry, 
or  the  measurement  of  tlie  skull.  In  eonneetion  with  this 
espeeial  work  of  Broea's,  it  may  be  well  to  give  some  ex- 
planation of  what  eonstitutes  eraniometry.  without  doubt, 
the  most  important  i)art  of  our  laboratory  work.  Crani- 
ometry comprises  measurements  of  the  <hy  skull,  both  its 
external  and  internal  surfaces,  its  various  angles,  its  relation 
to  the  si)inal  column,  its  internal  capacity  and  the  propor- 
tion and  weight  of  the  brain;  external  measurements  are 
to  be  made,  whenever  possible,  in  the  living  person  also. 
Moreover,  these  measurements,  to  be  of  value,  must  be  made 
in  large  nundjers.  so  that  the  average,  or  mean,  may  be 
trustworthy.  To  obtain  these  dimensions,  many  complicated 
and  costly  instruments  have  l)een  invented,  the  greater 
nundjcr  of  those  now  in  use  having  been  devised  by  Broca. 
I  had  inten<le(l  to  bring  some  of  these  instruments  here  in 
order  to  give  you  an  illustration  of  the  manner  in  which 
they  are  used  but  I  found  that  it  would  oceupy  more  time 
than  we  can  spare.  I  shall  read  you  the  names  of  Broea's 
craniometrie  inventions. 

In  1800,  he  invented  the  cruiii<tf/rapli  ;  an  instrument  tor 
giving  tlic  profile  of  the  skull. 

In  1.S04,  the  new  goniometer.  The  instrument  in  use,  for 
many  years,  for  taking  the  facial  angle  was  the  one  invented 
by  Dr.  Morton  of  Philadelphia  ;  Jacquart  made  a  vastly  im- 
proved instrument,  but  Broea's  goniometer  had  the  merit  of 
simplicity  and  <heapness. 


130  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

Ill  1867,  he  produced  the  stereograph. 

In  1869,  the  cadre  a  maxima  and  the  micrometric  compass^ 

In  1870,  he  invented  the  occipital  goniometer,  an  instru- 
ment for  ascertaining  the  angle  of  the  back  of  the  skull. 

In  1873,  he  brought  to  perfection  a  surprising  number  of 
instruments  mostly  for  the  investigation  of  the  endocranium, 
or  interior  of  the  skull.  A  perplexing  obstacle  in  the  pur- 
suit of  craniology  was  the  difficulty,  or  rather,  impossibil- 
ity, of  obtaining  measurements  of  the  interior  without  saw- 
ing open  the  cranium.  This  would  spoil  the  specimen  and 
could  not,  of  course,  be  permitted.  The  instruments  about 
to  be  mentioned  were  to  be  introduced  through  the  occipital 
foramen,  the  large  aperture  in  the  base  of  the  skull. 

The  cranioscope  enabled  a  bright  light  to  be  thrown  upon 
the  interior  of  the  skull  by  means  of  a  mirror  and  lamp. 

The  porte-envpreinte  intra-cranien,  or  intra-cranial  molder, 
is  an  instrument  charged  with  a  piece  of  wax  by  which  a 
mold  can  be  obtained  of  various  portions  of  the  interior. 

The  eridograph  is  an  ingenious  contrivance  for  tracing  on 
paper  the  curvatures  and  outlines  of  the  endocranium  for 
comparison  with  the  external  surface. 

The  millimetric  roulette  is  a  small  wheel,  graduated  in 
millimetres,  for  measuring  the  curved  outlines  on  tracings. 

The  endometer  is  an  instrument  for  measuring  internal 
diameters. 

He  invented,  also,  the  sphenoidal  crochet  and  ojjtic  sound; 
the  pachymctcr,  an  instrument  for  measuring  the  thickness 
of  the  skull  at  any  point ;  the  turcica  crochet;  the  acoustic 
sounds;  the  craniophore;  the  craniostat;  the  facial  demi-go- 
nlometer ;  the  au7^lcular  goniometer;  the  flexible  bi-aurlcular 
square;  the  cyclometer;  the  facial  median  goniometer;  the 
orthogon;  the  flexible  goniometer ;  the  goniometer  of  inclination; 
and  the  tropometer  for  measuring  the  degree  of  torsion,  or 
twisting,  of  the  humerus,  or  arm  bone,  a  racial  characteristic 
of  importance. 

I  fear  this  list  of  names  has  been  rather  tedious,  but  it  is 
not  only  pertinent  to  the  subject  as  illustrating  Broca's 
mechanical  ingenuity,  but  it  ma}^  enable  those  present  who 


PAIL  nuocA.  1:U 

have  no  special  accjii;iintanrr  u  illi  (•raiiiolo«j;y  to  Ibrm  some 
r()iK'i'j)tion  of  thr  iiuiiR-nsc  and  inti-icate  lal>or  iiivolvod  in 
aci.iinit«.'  uieasureimnts  of  the  skull.  Professor  Huxley, 
speakinu;;  of  these  elaborate  instruments,  says,  "One  can 
not  mention  the  name  <il'  Tudca  wilhout  the  «rreatest 
gratitude." 

This,  then,  \\a->  the  l)e.uinnin;;  of  the  Laboratory  of  An- 
throi)(»loi;y.  In  180S,  the  Mini.ster  of  rublic  Instruction, 
M.  Duruy,  conceive<l  the  happy  thou«,dit  of  establishing 
the  practical  school  of  hij;h  studies — L'ccole  pratique  des 
Jtautes  Hvdes — by  giving  an  annual  allowance  and  an  offi- 
cial character  to  the  various  laboratories  connected  with  in- 
stitutions of  learning.  Hroca's  laboratory  was  included. 
He  at  once  instituted  a  .sy.stem  of  teaching  which  attracted 
so  large  a  class  that  he  was  obliged  to  ask  the  dean  for  per- 
mission to  u.se  a  larger  theatre. 

The  progress  of  the  school  was  interrupted  by  the  Franco- 
German  war  of  1870-1.  Broca  was,  at  that  time,  professor 
of  clinical  surgery  at  the  hospital  of  La  Pitie,  which  was 
from  the  very  beginning  of  the  siege  of  Paris  crowded  with 
wounded  men.  To  these  and  to  the  care  of  the  hospital  he 
devoted  himself  exclusively,  and  his  laboratory  was  for- 
saken. He  had  been  one  of  the  thi'ce  directors  appointed 
to  take  charge  of  the  Public  Assistance.  During  the  days 
of  the  Commune,  for  which,  as  sterling  republican  and 
patriot,  he  had  a  supreme  detestation,  he  remained  at  his 
post  in  Paris,  taking  care  «>f  the  patients  still  in  his  hos- 
pital, but  busying  himself  in  taking  plaster-casts  of  brains, 
thus  beginning  the  superb  collection  of  cerel)ral  molds  which 
is  now  to  be  seen  in  the  Musee  l>r<jea.  The  I'ri'sident  of  the 
Council  of  Public  Assistance  fled  to  \'ersailles  without  no- 
tifying Broca,  who  was  the  vice-president,  and  leaving  the 
money  and  securities  in  charge  of  the  cashier.  The  danger 
of  a  seizure  of  these  valuables  by  the  communists  was  im- 
minent, and  Broca  determined  to  save  them,  if  })ossible. 
He,  himself,  carried  them  away,  night  after  night,  in  cari)et- 
bags,  and  concealed  them  at  the  ho.spital  of  La  Charite.  by 
the  aid  of  the  director.     He  was  careful  to  leave  three  or 


lo2  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

• 

four  thousand  Iraiies  in  the  saiV,  and,  much  to  the  disap- 
pointment of  the  insurgents,  this  was  all  that  they  found 
when,  a  day  or  two  later,  they  made  the  anticipated  raid. 
Apprehensive  that  the  treasure  might,  in  some  way,  be 
traced,  Broca  devised  a  bold  scheme  for  its  removal  to  Ver- 
sailles. A  wagon  loaded  with  potatoes  started  for  the  hos- 
pital of  Ivry  with  the  precious  carpet-bags  concealed  under- 
neath them,  and  as  soon  as  it  had  safely  passed  the  outmost 
guard,  the  wagon  was  turned  toward  Versailles,  which  it 
reached  in  safety,  and  the  bags  were  duly  delivered  to  the 
over-prudent  president.  The  amount  thus  saved  to  the 
government  by  Broca's  firmness  was  seventj^-'five  millions 
of  francs,  ($15,000,000.)  After  the  victory  and  the  return 
to  Paris,  the  directory  of  the  Public  Assistance  was  dis- 
solved, and  not  even  a  vote  of  thanks  was  offered  for  this 
eminent  service. 

Broca  was  not  the  man  to  trouble  himself  about  com- 
pliments. He  had  done  his  duty  and  now  all  his  energies 
were  devoted  to  bringing  forward  his  beloved  science.  He 
founded  the  Revue  d'anthropologle,  the  first  number  of  which 
appeared  in  1872,  and  this  journal  he  continued  to  edit  as 
long  as  he  lived.  His  next  undertaking  was  to  establish  a 
School  of  Anthropology,  and  so  irresistible  were  the  ardor 
and  persuasion  he  brought  to  bear  that  in  May,  1875,  the 
Dean  of  the  Faculty  assigned  him  the  second  story  over  the 
Musee  Dupuytren  for  the  new  school.  For  the  purpose  of 
furnishing  and  starting  it,  the  sum  of  thirty-five  thousand 
francs  was  subscribed  by  twenty-three  members  of  the  so- 
ciety. The  work  was  commenced  iri  July  and  completed  in 
the  following  spring.  The  new  scliool,  however,  was  not  to 
escape  its  share  of  opposition.  The  clerical  party  denounced 
the  project  without  ceasing,  branding  its  professors  as 
atheists  and  materialists,  and  so  thoroughly  did  they  succeed 
in  alarming  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  that  that 
functionary  was,  with  great  difficult}^  persuaded  to  author- 
ize the  scliool  to  proceed ;  when  he,  at  last,  did  so,  it  was 
only  for  a  year,  and  every  difficulty  and  discouragement 
was  thrown  in  the  wav. 


I'At  I,   i;i;<»(A.  1."):] 

I>i*oca  pcrsrvcri'tl  tliit»iii;li  il  all  ami,  on  the  l.")tli  Dccom- 
licr,  1S7C>.  tlu'  Sijiool  of  Anthroj)oloj,^y  was  (»J)(ih'(1  l>y  liiin 
Avitli  a  (lisi'oursc  entitled  "Tlie  Pro^rainineor  Aiitliropolo.iiV,'' 
wliieh  lia.s  been  translated  into  many  lan^nages.  "  Tt  was."' 
says  Pozzi,  "an  eloquent  plea  pj'o  c/onjo  sif',"  and  eerlaiidy 
it  was  his  own  edifice,  the  school  wliich  he  opened  that  day. 
Unlike  most  institutions  in  I'^-ancc,  it  had  heen  estahlished 
■without  the  aid  <»r  the  jj,overnnient,  and  l)y  the  personal 
eflorts  of  the  founder  alone.  Some  time  later,  so  brilliant 
was  the  success  of  the  new  school,  the  Municipal  Council  of 
Paris,  and  the  Council-General  of  the  Seine,  spontaneously 
allotted  it  an  annual  .subsidy  of  twelve  thousand  francs. 

Still  the  ministry  maintained  its  old  position  of  distrust 
and  almost  hostility,  livery  year,  it  was  necessary  to  apply 
for  a  new  authorization  which  it  re([uired  n-newed  efforts 
and  influence  to  obtain.  It  was  even  then  ;j;ranled  only  for 
another  year,  and  individually  ;  that  is  to  .<ay,  each  profes.>;or 
was  authorized,  by  name,  to  teach,  but  they  were  forbidden 
to  call  themselves  a  .school,  as  indicating  their  solidarity. 
At  length,  the  election  of  1S78  con.solidated  the  republic 
and  placed  all  institutions,  contending  for  progress,  in  their 
rightful  position.  The  School  of  Anthropology  was  <luly 
and  permanently  authorized.  I'urther,  the  Chambers  voted 
it  an  annual  subsidy  of  twenty  thousand  francs,  which 
joined  to  its  other  resources,  raised  its  annual  income  to 
thirty-four  thousand  francs,  or  nearly  $7,000. 

The  Society  of  Anthropology,  the  Laboratory  and  the 
School,  all  united  in  the  same  locality,  t'ormed,  thus,  a  con- 
federation known  as  the  Anthropological  Institute.  The 
students  from  the  school  were  admitted  to  the  laboratory, 
where  measurements  and  dissections  weic  ma<le  under  the 
direction  of  Paul  Topinard,  assistant  director,  and  of  Chud- 
zinski  and  Kuhll,  eurators.  In  the  neighborhood  is  the 
important  library  of  the  Society,  and  the  finest  anthropo- 
logical museum  in  the  world.  Since  the  death  of  its  founder, 
it  has  been  appropriately  named  La  Musee  Broca. 

It  may  be  imagined  with  what  .sitisfaction  Broca  wit- 
nessed the  completion  of  his  labors  to  establisii  his  favorite 


134  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

science  on  a  permanent  basis.  Of  his  own  work  in  Anthro- 
pology, it  is  impossible,  in  the  limits  of  a  lecture,  to  give  any 
adequate  account.  His  friend,  Professor  Pozzi,  has  attempted 
a  bibliography  of  his  writings  which  he  admits  to  be  im- 
perfect, and  which  yet  covers  seventeen  pages,  in  double 
columns  of  small  type  of  the  Revue  d'anthropologie,  which 
is  a  large  octavo  in  size.  I  have  been  able  to  add  some  few 
articles  to  Pozzi's  list,  and,  of  the  whole,  have  made  the  fol- 
lowing enumeration : 

Broca's  contributions  to  the  medical  sciences,  embracing 
anatomy  and  physiology,  both  normal  and  pathological,  and 
surgery,  number  243  articles  and  volumes.  His  papers  on 
the  anatomy  and  functions  of  the  brain  are  53  in  number. 
His  last  and  most  important  work  on  this  subject,  a  treatise 
on  the  morphology  of  the  brain,  was  left  unfinished. 

In  anthropology,  I  find  109  articles  and  volumes  upon 
comparative  anatomy  and  general  anthropology ;  48  papers 
on  general  craniology,  and  35  on  special  craniology ;  27 
papers  on  ethnology,  and  19  on  miscellaneous  subjects. 
The  total  number  of  his  printed  articles  and  volumes,  so 
far  as  ascertained,  is  534.  It  is  to  be  remembered  that  a 
large  part  of  these  papers  "are  quite  extensive,  running- 
through  several  numbers  of  the  journals  in  which  they  ap- 
peared. Man}"  of  them  were  reprinted  in  pamphlet  form, 
and  he,  himself,  commenced  a  collection  of  his  anthropo- 
logical memoirs,  of  which  three  large  volumes  were  pub- 
lished. Among  the  more  important  of  these  contributions 
may  be  mentioned  his  paper  on  Linguistics  and  Anthro- 
pology ;  his  General  Instructions  for  Observations  on  An- 
thropology. This  last  was  a  codification  of  the  rules  neces- 
sary to  be  observed  by  travelers  and  investigators;  it  was 
issued  in  1865,  and  was  completed  ten  years  later  bj'"  the 
Instructions  in  Craniology  and  Craniometry.  This  very 
valuable  and  original  work  had  immense  success,  and  was 
translated  into  nearly  every  modern  language.  Of  his 
writings  on  the  brain,  the  more  important  are  his  memoir 
upon  cranio-cerebral  topograph}';  on  the  great  limbic  lobe; 
on  the  olfactory  centres,  and  his  admirable  treatise  on  cer- 


I'AiL  HHocA.  i::.') 

ebral  noinenclature.      <)iic  of   his  (liscovcriis  in  tliis  coii- 
iicction  is  assoc-iated  lu-nuaiiciitly  with  his  name.     Cfitain 
patients  who  preserve  thi'  ineninry  of  words,  have  full   use 
of  the  larynx,  mouth   ami    lijis,  Imvc  yet    lost   the  powei-  of 
artieulation.      The  disease   is   ealled    aphemia   or  aphasia. 
Broca  observed  that  in  the  autopsies  of  these  patients  there 
was  invariably  present  a  diseased  condition  of  a  portion  of 
the  third  frontal  eonvolution  of  the  brain  on  the  left  side. 
This  convolution,  thus  inferred  to  be  the  .'^eat  of  lan<ruage, 
is  known  as  "the  convolution  of  Broca."     In  a  vast  number 
of  cases,  the  prediction   has  been  made,  during  life,  that  a 
certain  portion  of  this  convolution,  the  surface  of  its  lower 
tliird,  would  be  found  diseased,  and  it  has   been  fulfilled 
with  mathematical  precision.     There  are  some  exceptions 
in  which  the  disease  is  found  in  the  third  convolution  on  the 
rigid  side.     Sini^ularly  enough,  in  most  of  these  cases,  it  was 
found  that  the  patients  had  been  left-handed,  and   in  these 
the  right  side  of  the  brain  is  generally  more  develoiied  than 
the  left.     The  subject  of  the  localization  of  the  functions  of 
the  brain — by  which  we  mean  the  discovering  of  the  portic- 
iilar  convolutions  or  other  portions  of  the  brain  in  which  re- 
side the  functions  of  animal  life — is  of  the  highest  interest; 
but  is  still  to  be  considered  as  under  investigation. 

When,  in  1S72,  it  was  determined  to  found  a  French 
Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  after  the  model 
of  the  English  Association,  Broca  took  an  active  part  in  the 
orgaiuzation.  He  was  one  of  the  provisional  council  of 
which  Claude  Bernard  was  the  President.  He  established 
the  section  of  anthroi)ology,  which  has  be<n  briiliantlv 
successful,  the  need  of  such  a  section  not  being  denied  in 
France  as  it  had  been  in  the  English  A.ssociation. 

While  all  this  work  was  being  done  in  anthropology,  it 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Broca  was  a  i)rofe.-<.sor  of  the 
Faculty  of  Medicine  and  a  Surgeon  of  Hospitals,  and  that 
liis  duties  in  these  conneetions  re«iuirfd  some  Imurs  of  every 
day  for  their  discharge.  He  was  an  imaniation  of  work. 
Naturally,  the  (piestion  arises,  what  was  the  (juality  of  this 
amazing  cpiantity  of  work  performed,  and  would  it  have 


136  SATURDAY    LECTUllES. 

been  better  for  his  fame  if  he  had  concentrated  his  energies 
upon  fewer  subjects  ?  In  some  persons,  production  is  a  slow 
process,  accompanied  with  extreme  tension  of  the  brain ; 
the  thought  dwells  a  long  time  in  the  mind  before  it  assumes 
the  form  in  which  it  is  to  appear;  such  persons  bring  forth 
in  sorrow  and  in  pain.  This  was  not  Broca's  ease.  To 
express  his  thoughts  with  extreme  rapidity,  whether  by 
speech  or  pen,  was,  to  him,  the  most  facile  of  functions.  It 
seemed  play  rather  than  work.  And  yet,  Trelat,  a  critical 
Judge,  said  of  him,  "  Broca  never  wrote  anything  that  came 
down  to  mediocrity."  His  mind  was  essentially  many-sided, 
of  restless  activity  and  well  sustained  by  the  admirable 
physical  organization  which  he  possessed.  His  intense  love 
of  truth  and  the  ardor  of  his  convictions,  at  times,  led  him 
to  too  great  vehemence  of  expression.  He  was  impatient 
with  those  who  did  not  see  the  truth  as  he  saw  it,  or  did  not 
see  it  as  rapidly  as  he  did.  His  work  in  anatomy,  physiol- 
ogy, and  surgery  stands,  to  this  day,  mostly  unquestioned. 
His  qualifications  for  anthropology  are  forcibly  stated  by 
one  of  his  pupils.  Professor  Ball,  who  says :  "  Anthropology 
is  a  compound  of  so  many  other  sciences  that  the  interven- 
tion of  a  grasping  and  encyclopsedic  mind  like  Broca's  is 
almost  invaluable  to  form  the  connecting  link  between  so 
many  different  branches  of  human  knowledge.  An  excel- 
lent mathematician,  a  first-rate  anatomist,  a  good  Greek 
scholar,  Broca  combined  in  himself  that  diversified  knowl- 
edge which  the  subject  requires,  with  the  synthetical  ten- 
dencies which  condense  these  disseminated  forces,  and  make 
them  converge  upon  a  single  point." 

In  person,  Broca  was  of  the  middle  height  arid  strongly 
built.  His  broad  forehead  and  lustrous  brown  eyes  gave  a 
very  noble  expression  to  his  face.  In  private  life,  his  re- 
lations were  in  every  way  admirable.  Benevolent  and 
generous,  he  was  adored  by  liis  family,  and  those  who  were 
once  his  friends  were  his  friends  for  life, — he  "  grappled  tliem 
to  his  soul  with  hooks  of  steel."  He  was  a  delightful  com- 
panion in  his  social  hours.  He  had  traveled  much,  and 
would  relate  his  adventures  and    observations  with  great 


v\v\.  iu:ucA.  137 

humur.      I  may  be  allowed  to  iiuotc  one  iucident  which  he 
loved  to  recount. 

While  traveling'  in  JSpain  he  came  to  .Seville  and,  desiring 
to  be  shaved,  sent  for  the  nearest  barber.  Fij;aro  ap{)eared 
and,  knowing  that  his  customer  was  a  famous  surgeon,  re- 
fused to  receive  any  recompense.  "Sir,"  said  he,  with  a 
lofty  air,  "  that  is  never  allowed  between  professional  breth- 
ren!" The  class  of  barber-surgeons  exists  to-day,  in  Sj)ain, 
as  it  did  when  Cervantes  wrote. 

The  crowning  {)ublic  honor  of  IJroca's  life  remains  to  be 
told.  In  1879,  the  Senate  nominated  him  as  permanent 
Senator,  representing  Science.  lie  was  proposetl,  of  course, 
by  the  left.  The  right,  or  monarchical,  side,  made  tierce  op- 
position. He  was  an  unyielding  Republican,  the  founder 
of  the  Antliroi)ological  Institute,  which  meant  free-think- 
ing and  athei.sm.  They  searched  his  writings  for  doctrines 
to  convict  him  and,  with  great  joy,  published  this  quotation, 
•'  I  would  rather  be  an  ai)e  brought  to  perfection  than  a  de- 
generate Adam."  But  this  proved  to  have  been  a  saying 
of  Claparede's  and  not  of  Broca's.  A  sentence  was  taken 
from  his  Programme  of  Anthropology,  "There  is  no  faith, 
however  respectable,  no  interest,  however  legitimate,  which 
must  not  accommodate  itself  to  the  ])rogre.<s  of  human 
knowledge  and  bend  before  truth,  if  the  truth  be  demon- 
strated." Even  this  scarcely  orthodox  doctrine,  it  .seemed, 
was  qualified  by  the  preceding  sentence  which  .said  that 
"science  must  keep  aloof  from  anything  not  within  its 
province." 

Broca,  with  characteristic  independence,  took  no  part, 
whatever,  in  the  proceedings,  but  he  was  elected.  On  the 
10th  February,  1880,  a  banquet  was  given  him  by  some  of 
his  most  attached  friends,  members  of  the  Faculty  of  Medi- 
cine, of  the  Academy  of  Medicine,  of  the  Society  of  Anthro- 
pology, of  the  Senate,  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  &c.,  in 
commemoration  of  the  high  honor  bestowed  upon  him. 
It  was  the  grandest  banquet  ever  given  to  a  scientific  man. 
The  long  tabh'  was  tilled  with  those  who  had  shared  Ids 
struggles  and  labors  at  dilfereiit  \)Avi<  of  lii>^  career  from  the 


138  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

College  of  Suiiite-Foix  to  the  Senate.  Professor  Verneuil, 
liis  life-long  friend,  said  to  him,  "If  we  are  in  great  strength 
around  thee,  it  is  because  thou  hast  continually  made  new 
friends,  and  hast  never  lost  a  single  one." 

In  his  speech  of  acknowledgment,  Broca  said,  "the}^ 
would  not  have  thought  of  me  if  they  had  not  known  with 
what  certainty  they  could  count  upon  my  devotion  to 
republican  principles ;  and  if,  among  many  others  not  less 
trustworthy  and  more  skilled  in  political  knowledge,  they 
have  chosen  a  man  of  science,  it  is  because  they  hold  science 
in  high  consideration,  and  believe  that  to  serve  science  is  to 
serve  one's  country  best." 

His  speech  was  one  of  the  most  eloquent  he  had  ever 
delivered,  and  ended  Avith  a  sentence  that  proved  strangely 
pathetic,  in-the  light  of  the  after  occurrence.  He  said,  "  were 
I  superstitious,  I  should  believe,  from  the  great  hajipiness 
I  experience  to-day,  that  some  great  danger  was  threatening 
me." 

Five  months  later,  these  now  sorrowing  friends  followed 
him  to  the  grave.  On  Tuesday,  the  6th  July,  1880,  he  was 
in  his  seat  at  the  Senate  and  was  attacked  suddenly  by 
faintness.  The  next  day,  he  had  apparently  recovered,  and 
Thursday  evening  was  passed  in  work  with  his  friend, 
pupil,  colleague,  and  successor,  Dr.  Paul  Topinard.  Toward 
midnight,  he  was  suddenly  attacked  with  difficulty  of 
breathing,  he  rose  from  his  bed  and,  in  ten  minutes,  he  ex- 
pired. The  post  mortem  examination  discovered  no  lesion 
of  any  organ, — no  cause  for  this  sudden  taking-o.ff.  "  Cere- 
bral exhaustion  ''  was  the  medical  periphrasis,  which  im- 
plied two  things; — that  the  man  had  worked  himself  to 
death  and  that  how  he  died  was  a  mystery.  He  died  at  the 
comparatively  early  age  of  50,  in  the  very  plenitude  of  his 
powers  and  the  height  of  his  renown. 

He  was  buried  in  the  cemetery  of  the  old  church  of  the 
Celestins,  in  which  his  first  labors  in  craniology  had  com- 
menced thirty-three  years  before,  and  which  led  to  his  long 
course  of  studies  in  anthropology.  The  Vice-President  of 
the  Senate,  M.  Eugene  Pelletan,  in  his  oration  at  the  grave. 


I'Air.    HHOCA.  139 

said,  altiT  an  rl<>(|Uoiit  enlo^iv  iipon  the  dead,  "A  new  science, 
human  palieontology,  lias  just  originated  under  our  feot; 
at  hundreds  of  ages  of  depth,  our  fore-fathers  have  been,  in 
some  way,  surprised,  lying  pell-mell  in  the  midst  of  the 
giant  fauna  of  a  vanished  creation.  Broea  was  one  of  the 
valiant  pioneers  who  penetrated  the  foremost  into  the  sub- 
terranean world  of  humanity,  and  wl»o  understood  best  how 
to  thnnv  light  on  such  history  as  is  left  of  it.'' 

His  work  is  continued  by  those  who  were  his  disciples 
and  colleagues.  Gavarret  is  the  director  of  the  School  of 
Anthropology,  Matthias  Duval  is  director  of  the  Laboratory, 
and  Dr.  Paul  Topinard  is  the  General  Secretary  of  the  So- 
ciety and  director  of  the  Revue  d'anthropologie. 

The  museum,  now  the  Musee  Broca,  continues  to  increase 
its  treasures;  a  recent  number  of  the  Review  states  that 
there  are  more  than  seven  thousand  specimens  in  craniology 
alone. 

Broca  left  an  enormous  quantity  of  notes  and  drawings; 
also,  two  (piarto  volumes  which  contain  the  measurements 
of  crania  made  by  him  during  twenty  years.  These  are 
divided  into  sixty -four  series  of  different  races,  and  record 
more  than  185,000  measurements. 

Madame  Broca,  liis  widow,  has  devoted  a  sum  of  momy 
to  found  a  ''  Broca  prize" — Ic  prix  Broca.  The  subject  of 
competition  is  "  human  and  comparative  anatomy  in  relation 
to  anthropology."  Writers  of  all  nations  may  compete  but 
their  papers  must  be  written  in  French.  The  prize  is  1,500 
francs,  and  it  is  to  be  bestowed  every  two  years. 

There  is  not  much  more  that  needs  to  be  said  of  Broca 
and  his  work.  If  Europe  be  now  garrisoned  with  societies 
of  anthropology  composed  of  earnest  workers,  loyally  co- 
operating witii  the  votaries  of  othe'r  sciences,  and  daily 
adding  to  the  vast  mass  of  facts  and  observations  wiiiih 
have  been  accumulated  concerning  man,  it  is  indisputable 
that  it  is  to  I>roca  we  are  indebted  for  their  existence.  Of 
his  remarkable  litne.«;s  for  the  task  which  it  fell  to  liim  to 
undertake,  there  can  be  no  d<)ul)t.  but  it  was  one  predom- 
inating quality  of  his  moral   nature  which  gave  him  Ids 


140  SATUllDAY    LECTURES. 

great  influence  over  other  men,  and  which  has  made  his 
work  so  authoritative  and  enduring,  and  that  was  his  un- 
swerving love  of  truth.  In  science,  he  was  always  the 
judge — never  the  advocate.  Pure  and  lofty-minded,  he 
stood  aloof  from  intrigues,  and  honors  came  to  him  unsought. 
The  laureate's  words  may  well  be  said  of  liiiii, — 

"  Who  never  sold  the  truth  to  serve  the  liour. " 

In  conclusion,  allow  me  to  remind  you  that  there  is  what 
may  be  termed  a  moral  side  of  the  science  whose  history 
we  have  been  considering.  To  sj^end  our  hours  in  the 
stud}''  of  man — to  reflect  upon  his  marvelous  metamorphosis 
from  the  grimy  savage  of  the  cave  to  the  gentleman  of  to- 
daj'' — to  ponder  upon  his  curious  devices,  his  laws,  his 
marriage-customs,  his  battles,  his  religions,  is  to  All  our 
minds  with  a  belief  in  a  common  brotherhood  more  con- 
vincingly than  peace  societies  or  missionaries  can  teach, 
and  to  lead  us  to  repeat  with  Terence : — "  I  am  a  man — 
therefore  all  human  things  concern  me." 


*^*  I  desire    to    acknowledge  my    obligation  to  Prof.   Pozzi's  article  in   the 
Revue  d'anthropologie  for  much  of  the  details  of  the  founding  of  the  Institute. 


PA  I  I.  r.itocA.  141 


]SrOTES. 


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(p)  The  Anthropological  Society  of  Washington,  D.  C.     (1879.) 

Publications : — Abstract  of  Transactions  of  the  Anthropological  Society  of 
Washington,  D.  C,  for  the  ist  year,  ending  Jan.  20,  1880,  and  for  the  2d 
year,  ending  Jan.  18,  iSSi.     8vo.     Washington,  D.  C,  1881. 

{q)  Deutsche  Gesellschaft  fiir  Anthropologic,  Ethnologic  und  Urge- 
schichte.     (1870.) 
Publications : — Correspondenzblatt  der  deutschen  Gesellschaft,  etc.   Braun- 
schweig, 4to,  Vols.  1-12,  1871-82.     Appears   (with  separate  pagination)   in 
the :  Archiv.  fiir  Anthropologic ;  Zeitschrift  fiir  Naturgeschichte  und  Urge- 
schichtc  des  Menschen.     Braunschweig,  4to.,  Vols.  1-14.  1866-82. 

*^*  This  society  meets  annually  in  some  German  city.  The  first  meeting 
took  place  in  Berlin  in  1870. 

(r)  Congres  international  d'anthropologie  et  d'archeologie  prehis- 
torique.     (1865.) 

Congres  l.  Ncufchatel,  1866.     Compte  rendu     8vo.      Paris,  1866. 

2.  Paris,  1867.      CogLpte  rendu.      8vo.      Paris,  1868. 

3.  Norwich,  1868.     Compte  rendu.     8vo.     London,  1869. 

4.  Copenhagen,  1869.    Compte  rendu.    8vo.    Copenhagen,  1870. 

5.  Bologna,  1871.     Compte  rendu.     Svo.     Bologna,  1873. 

6.  Bruxelles,  1872.      Compte  rendu.      8vo.      Bruxelles,  1873. 

7.  Stockholm,  1874.      Compte  rendu.      Svo.      Chalons,  1875. 

8.  Buda  Pesth,  1876. 

9.  Lisbon,  1880. 


DE1-P-S1'.\  I-XI'I.OKATION 


Lecture  delivered   in  the   United   States    Nationcl  Muscnni,  April   22,  iSS^.    !>>' 
I'rof.  Wm.  H.  Dali.. 


Ladies  and  Gkntlemkn: 

The  siibjoi't  of  tliis  Icetuic  may  be  defined  as  covering  the 
investigation  of  all  that  relates  to  the  ocean  and  its  inhabi- 
.  tants,  considered  as  a  wliole,  with  the  exception  of  those 
features  which  are  due  to  the  influence  of  external  causes, 
such  as  the  tides,  and  those  which  are  exhibited  solely  in 
shallow  water,  and  therefore  are  in  one  sense  characteristic 
rather  of  the  coasts  themselves  than  of  the  sea. 

The  field  naturally  divides  itself  into  two  areas  of  re- 
search, the  ]>hysical  and  the  biological.  The  physical  fea- 
tures inelude  the  temperature  of  the  sea-water  in  different 
geographical  regions  and  at  different  depths ;  the  compoHition 
of  the  water  and  investigations  into  the  relative  amounts  of 
mineral  .salts,  organic  impurities,  air,  or  other  gases  contained 
in  it,  and  upon  which  its  weight  or  density  depends;  the 
motions  of  the  water  contained  in  the  bed  of  the  ocean, 
whieh,  apart  from  the  tides,  dei)cnd  largely  on  its  variations 
in  temi)crature  and  density,  and  which,  when  tolerably  con- 
stant and  sufficiently  well  marked  to  attract  the  attention  of 
navigators,  are  commonly  known  as  ocean  currents;  and, 
lastly,  of  the  deptJi  of  the  sea  or  the  topogra])hy  and  physi- 
cal features  of  the  bed  in  which  it  is  contained. 

The  biological  features  include  the  capture  and  classilica- 
tion  of  the  animals  living  in  the  sea,  especially  on  its  bottom, 
and  the  circumstances  attending  their  existence  there,  both 
as  regards  their  food  and  manner  of  living,  and  the  results, 
if  any,  produced  by  the  presence  of  their  r.'inniiK  .ifttr 
death.  • 

It  is  evident  that  the  field  is  too  large  to  be  treated  in 
detail  within  the  limits  of  a  single  lecture,  and  therefore  I 
shall  conline  myself  to  a  general  <lescription  of  the  means 
used  in  exploring  the  bed  of  the  ocean,  of  the  conclusions 
whicli   ai)j>ear  to  be  warranted   by  the  discoveries  so   far 

«43 


144  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

iiiade,  and  a  l)rief  review  of  the  history  of  such  explorations 
and  the  part  taken  in  them  by  our  own  country. 

The  determination  of  the  depth  of  the  sea,  at  least  to  a 
certain  distance  from  the  surface,  is  a  necessary  preliminary 
to  navigation,  and  hence  has  grown  with  commerce  from 
the  time  when  the  primitive  savage  tirst  launched  his  rude 
canoe  in  the  Nile  delta  until  the  project  of  an  Atlantic 
cable  rendered  it  necessary  to  plumb  the  depths  of  ocean. 
The  use  of  a  weighted  line  for  this  purpose  probably  long 
antedates  the  historic  period.  The  ordinary  mariner's  lead- 
line is  familiar  to  nearly  everybody,  and  consists  simply  of 
an  elongated  piece  of  lead  with  a  slight  indentation  in  its 
bottom,  and  a  hole  in  its  smaller  end  by  which  is  attached 
a  stout  cord,  large  enough  not  to  cut  the  hands  when  being 
hauled  in,  marked  at  regular  intervals  with  tufts  of  red, 
white,  and  blue  flannel,  or  small  leather  tags,  to  indi- 
cate the  length  of  line  run  out.  In  the  cavity  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  lead  is  usually  placed  a  little  tallow  or  hard 
soap,  Avhicli  will  bring  up  a  few  particles  serving  to  indicate 
the  kind  of  mud,  sand,  or  gravel,  of  which  the  bottom  is 
composed.  In  ordinary  depths  the  line  runs  out  rapidly 
until  the  bottom  is  reached,  and  the  thump  of  the  lead  on 
hard  sand  is  distinguishable  in  still  water  at  a  depth  of 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

But  in  greater  depths  and  in  waters,  or  from  a  vessel,  more 
or  less  in  motion,  the  accurac}^  of  the  soundings  possible  by 
the  common  method  becomes  rapidly  less,  and  at  depths  of 
1,000  fathoms  (about  a  mile)  the  determination  becomes 
quite  untrustworthy. 

This  was  not  at  first  realized  by  investigators,  and  more 
or  less  confidence  was  placed  in  depths,  such  as  those  re- 
ported by  Walsh,  Denham,  and  Parker,  who  ran  out  from 
six  to  ten  miles  of  line,  in  the  Atlantic  without  recognizing 
that  the  bottom  had  been  reached,  in  regions  where  we  now 
know  the  depth  does  not  vary  much  from  two  miles.  The 
mystery  and  uncertainty  which  thus  became  associated  with 
the  conception  of  the  depths  of  ocean  had,  as  will  be  shown 
hereafter,  an  important  effect  in  retarding  attempts  at  ex-' 
ploration  of  the  deep  sea. 


i>i;i:r-si;.\   i:.\i'i,(ti;A  i  ion.  115 

Sciciitilk-  navigators,  ill  an  early  |»cri()il.  hruan  to  att(iii|it 
ini|ti(>vrincnts  in  sounding  apparatus  lor  i^ivat  dcittlis.  In 
this  Held  tho  offic-ers  of  our  own  navv  havi*  stood  easily  lirsl, 
not  only  in  order  of  [)riority  of  invention,  but  also  in  the 
porfcM'tion  of  the  results  attained  up  t(»  the  present  time. 

An  early  inii>roveinent  was  the  substitution,  in  i)laee  of 
the  ordinary  U-ad-iine,  of  a  very  line  lini'  and  a  very  heavy 
weifj^ht.  whieli  ran  out  ra|)idl\',  and  wa<  not  intendei]  to  be 
rei'overed,  l»ut  was  eut  at  the  surfaee.  The  chan;j;e  in  the 
rate  of  runniuii-  out  of  the  line  indieatcs  when  bottom  is 
reaehcd.  I  have  thus  sounded  in  depths  of  over  a  mile 
witjj  satisfaetory  results.  But  the  nature,  as  well  as  the  dis- 
tanee,  of  the  bottom,  is  an  important  feature  in  such  investi- 
gations, and  .sounding  instruments,  which  would  {)ick  up  a 
good-sized  sample  of  tlie  bottom  at  the  depth  of  a  mile  or 
more,  and  bring  it  safely  to  the  surface,  were  tlie  next  in 
order  of  invention.  Sir  John  Ross,  as  early  as  1818,  in- 
vented a  "  elamm  "  something  like  an  old  fashioned  i)air  of 
.sugar  tongs,  which  should  be  closed  by  a  falling  weight  on 
striking  the  bottom.  The  same  idea,  in  different  forms,  has 
since  been  tried  l)y  several  inventors,  but  it  has  never 
proved  satisfactory  in  the  long  run.  A  piece  of  gravel  or 
shell  gets  between  the  edges  of  the  tongs,  hold  them  apart, 
and  the  contents  are  washed  out  while  hauling  in.  Sir 
.lohn  Ross,  however,  succeeded  in  several  cases  in  briuEfins: 
up  several  i)Ounds  of  the  bottom,  once  with  some  animals 
contained  in  it,  from  depths  of  over  five  hundred  and  pos- 
sibly one  thousand  fathoms.  Modifications  of  this  princi- 
ple are  found  in  the  .so-called  '"  Bulldog  "  and  "  Fitzgerald  " 
.M)unding  instruments,  both  of  which  have  been  well  .spoken 
of  for  their  performances  on  certain  occasions,  but  which 
have  not  ijorne  the  test  of  greater  use. 

The  first  important  advance  in  this  direction  was  made 
by  Midshipman  .lolni  M.  Brooke,  U.S.  N.,  in  1854.  It  should 
be  stated  that  in  addition  to  the  difficulty  of  getting  the 
weight  and  line  perpendieularly  to  the  bottom,  and  know- 
ing when  the  bottom  has  l)een  reached,  another  important 
featiu-e  in  .sounding  work    is  the   recovery  of  the   line  and 

in 


14(3  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

lead.  When  sounding  is  done  with  hempen-line,  and  a 
sounding  Aveight  of  fift}^  or  one  hundred  pounds,  it  will  be 
apparent  that  the  friction  of  two  or  three  miles  of  line,  with 
its  tags  and  instruments  attached,  inust  be  enormous,  even 
if  it  could  be  hauled  up  perpendicularly  in  still  water.  But 
when  the  vessel,  as  she  alwa^'s  must,  drifts  a  little,  and  the 
line  comes  up  in  a  diagonal  direction,  the  friction,  added  to 
the  weight,  renders  the  safe  recovery  of  the  line,  sounding- 
cup,  and  thermometers  or  w^ater  bottles  attached  to  it — a 
matter  of  great  difficulty,  some  uncertainty,  and  several 
hours  of  time.  In  anything  but  the  best  of  weather  such 
work  becomes  almost  impracticable. 

Mr.  Brooke's  invention  included  an  ingenious  and  simple 
apparatus  for  detaching  the  weigjit  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
and  leaving  it  there.  Having  thus  to  haul  up  only  the  line 
and  the  light  tube  containing  the  sample  of  the  bottom, 
the  labor  was  greatly  diminished,  and  the  time  of  hauling 
in  much  shortened.  Brooke's  apparatus  has  formed  the 
basis  of  the  only  really  successful  sounding-cups  which  are 
now  in  use  either  by  our  own  or  foreign  navigators.  Im- 
provements on  the  original  form  were  successively  made  by 
Capt.  Shortlancl,  of  the  British  navy,  Capt.  Belknap,  of 
our  own  nav}^,  and  lastly  by  Lieut.  Com.  Sigsbee,  U.  S.  N., 
while  engaged  in  the  service  of  the  Coast  Survey.  The  in- 
strument, as  perfected  by  Belknap  and  Sigsbee,  does  not 
seem  capable  of  much  further  improvement,  and  works  to  a 
charm.  The  accessory  machinery  for  use  in  deep-sea  sound- 
ings, such  as  small  engines,  reels  for  the  line,  blocks,  and 
elastic  arrangements  of  rubber  or  steel  springs  to  guard 
against  the  effect  of  sudden  jerks  upon  the  line,  have  been 
improved  from  time  to  time,  and  are  fully  described  in  pub- 
lications on  the  subject  by  Sir  Wyville  Thomson  and  Lieut. 
Com.  Sigsbee.  The  most  important  improvement  of  recent 
date  is  due  to  the  distinguished  Professor  Sir  William  Thom- 
son, of  Glasgow,  in  1872.  This  consists  partly  in  the  em- 
plo^anent  of  fine  steel  piano-wire  for  the  line  inst,ead  of  rope, 
and  partly  in  the  method  of  its  use.  Instead  of  the  tags  on 
the  line  to  determine  the  length  run  out,  the  latter  is  known 


DKKP-SI^V    1:\1'I.oi;atI()N.  1  17 

])y  the  number  ol"  rrvoliitioii-^  iiindi'  I»y  (lu-  reel  iVoiii  wliidi 
it  uncoils,  thus  savint,^  ji  vast  amount  ol"  IVietion  between 
the  water  and  tlie  wire-Hne.  The  moment  of  touehin<f  bot- 
tom is  also  nuu'h  more  clearly  indicated  by  the  light  reel 
employeil,  which,  assisted  by  the  absence  of  friction  on  the 
wire,  ceases  to  turn  almost  as  soon  as  the  weiji^ht  touches 
bottom.  It  is  im|)ossibl(',  in  the  brief  account  I  can  give 
you,  to  go  into  the  minuter  details  wliich  iiia\'  be  found  in 
the  publications  })reviously  mentioned. 

This  invention  has  i)roved  to  be  of  the  greatest  import- 
ance, and,  singularly  enough,  though  invented  before  the 
celebrated  voyage  of  the  Challenger,  sent  out  by  the  British 
government,  and  immediately  taken  up  by  Belknap  in  our 
own  sounding  expeditions  in  the  North  Pacific,  where  its 
value  was  thoroughly  demonstrated,  the  countrymen  of 
the  inventor  continued  throughout  their  three  years'  cruise 
to  use  the  cumbersome  hemp  rope  in  all  their  sounding  and 
•  Iredging  work,  thereby  diminishing  the  efFectiveness  of 
their  operations  by  at  least  sixty  per  cent. 

Partly  from  the  tact  that  the  expense  of  deep-sea  sound- 
ing expeditions  is  so  great  as  to  place  them  beyond  the 
means  of  private  individuals  or  scientific  .societies,  and 
partly  from  the  unsatisfactory  results  and  enormous  depths 
reported  by  naval  officers  of  several  countries,  governments 
and  scientific  bodies  remained,  until  recent  years,  indifferent 
or  sceptical  as  to  the  })racticability  of  making  re.searches  in 
the  deep-sea  which  should  produce  results  at  all  adequate  to 
the  expense  involved. 

It  was  only  when  the  subject  of  telegraphic  communication 
by  cable  under  the  sea  assumed  a  commercial  importance 
which  could  no  longer  be  ignored,  tliat  a  knowledge  of  the 
conditions  of  the  sea  bottom,  especially  in  the  North  At- 
lantic, became  a  necessity.  Deep-sea  exploration  may 
therefore  be  said  to  have  commenced  systematically  only 
about  1850.  The  survey  of  the  "  telegra]>hic  plateau"  began 
about  this  time  by  the  aid  of  the  British  and  American 
navy,  and  even  with  the  comparatively  imperfect  means 
then  available,  a  very  large  amount  of  information  was 
gathered  in  the  course  of  the  succee<ling  four  or  tive  vears. 


148  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

I  have  alread}'  spoken  of  the  attempts  at  securing  speci- 
mens of  the  bottom  which  accompanied  sounding  by  vari- 
ous methods.  It  is  evident  that  the  amount  of  material 
which  can  be  obtained  by  even  the  best  modern  sounding 
apparatus  is  too  small  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  plants 
or  animals  which  might  exist  on  the  sea  bottom.  This  fol- 
lows both  because  only  the  smallest  animals  could  find  en- 
trance into  the  tubes  intended  to  bring  up  .specimens  of 
bottom,  and  also  because  the  apparatus  is  not  fitted  nor  in- 
tended for  the  purpose  of  capturing  living  animals,  and  if 
any  existed  on  the  spot  struck  by  the  lead  the  blow  would 
probabl}^  reduce  them  to  fragments. 

Other  means  are  then  necessary  for  this  purpose,  and 
since  deep-.sea  explorations  have  lately  included  both  dredg- 
ing and  sounding  as  well  as  temperature  observations  and 
collection  of  water-samples,  I  shall  proceed  to  describe  the 
various  instruments  used  for  these  purposes  before  consider- 
ing the  work  accomplished  by  them. 

The  dredge  and  trawl  are  instruments  which  have  been 
used  from  time  immemorial  by  fishermen,  and  which,  in  a 
modified  form,  are  employed  in  the  deep  sea  for  the  capture 
of  its  inhabitants.  The  naturalist's  dredge  was  designed  in 
nearly  its  present  form  by  O.  F.  Mliller,  of  Denmark,  a  very 
distinguished  early  naturalist,  more  than  a  century  ago. 
It  has  been  made  more  convenient  and  effective,  but  the 
modifications  are  very  slight.  The  best  form  seems  to  be 
that  adopted  thirty  years  ago  by  Dr.  Stimpson,  and  used  by 
American  naturalists  ever  since.  It  comprises  a  frame  of 
heavy  iron  forming  a  parallelogram,  the  two  long  sides  bev- 
eled outward  to  act  as  scrapers ;  it  is  perforated  along  the 
hinder  edge  with  a  row  of  small  holes,  into  which  a  net 
and  two  flaps  of  canvas  are  laced  with  copper  Avire.  The 
canvas  is  outside  of  the  net  and  longer  than  the  latter,  and 
protects  it  from  being  cut  by  sharp  stones  on  the  bottom  as 
it  drags  half  full  of  mud  behind  the  frame.  Two  movable 
arms  project  forward  from  holes  in  the  short  sides  of  the 
iron  frame,  coming  together  about  two  feet  in  front  of  it,  to 
one  of  which  the  dredge-rope  is  attached ;  but  the  other  is 


DEEP-SKA    KXI'I  i)|;.\  I  loN.  11'. • 

umIv  laslu'.l  tt»  liu'  lii-l  witii  |>;i(  k  llirca<l.  Tims,  in  «lra^- 
<iin«'- oviT  tlu'  liottoni,  if  tlu'  ilr('»ljj;c  latthcs  on  an  inmiov- 
ablo  rock,  tlio  strain  breaks  the  pack  thread,  the  two  arms 
straij^'hten  out.  ami  tiie  (lredt;;e  can  usually  be  pulled  away 
<rom  the  rock  without  loss  of  frame  or  rope. 

The  trawl,  as  used  by  the  En<2;lish  exi>editions,  is  almost 
precisely  the  same  as  the  ordinary  tisherman's  beam-trawl, 
in  whii  h  the  material  is  collected  tVom  the  bottom  by  the 
wei.iihted  edge  of  a  net  which  draus  behind  an  iron  bar  or 
beam  which  goes  upon  two  runners  of  Hat  iron.  For  deei>- 
sea  work,  however,  American  investigators,  especially  Sigs- 
bee.  Prof.  Alexander  Agassi/.,  and  Prof.  Verrill,  have  intro- 
duced important  modifications,  not  only  of  the  trawl,  but  ot 
the  dredge,  rakes,  and  scrapers  for  the  bottom,  and  various 
seives  and  otiier  apparatus  for  cleansing  and  assorting  the 
material  collected. 

A  very  important  addition  to  the  means  of  collecting  in 
deep  water  was  invented  by  Captain  Calver,  R.  N.,  during 
the  voyage  of  the  Porcupine.  This  consisted  in  employing 
••  swabs  "  or  "  tangles,"  large  mops  of  shredded  rope-yarns, 
to  sweep  the  bottom  with,  attached  to  the  dredge  to  an  iron 
bar  or  to  a  weight,  ^^any  of  the  deep-sea  animals^  such  as 
cru<tacca,  sponges,  starfish,  and  sea  urchins,  are  rough  or 
prickly,  and  the  long  mops  of  wet  threads  entangled  them 
by  hundreds,  and  came  up  covered  with  organisms  when 
the  dredge  had  nothing  but  mud  and  a  few  small  creatures 
in  it.  A  very  large  proportion  of  the  animals  collected 
from  the  sea  bottom  has  been  obtained  by  the  use  of  these 
tangles  or  swabs,  though  many  of  the  animals  come  up  in 
a  masiied  or  broken  state. 

To  obtain  samples  of  water  from  any  dc[»th,  without  ad- 
mixture of  other  water,  brass  cylinders  with  poppet  valves 
at  top  and  bottom  have  been  used.  These  are  very  heavy, 
and,  as  they  descend,  the  pressure  of  the  water  raises  the 
valves  an<l  the  water  passes  steadily  through  until  the  re- 
•  piircil  depth  is  reached.  Then  the  line  is  haule<l  in,  re- 
lieving the  upward  pie.ssure  on  the  valves,  which  fall  ami 
the  enclosed  water  is  thus  kept  intact  for  analysis. 


150  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

Several  devices  more  complicated  than  the  ordinary 
"  water  bottle  "  have  been  employed  for  the  same  purpose 
with  success,  especially  one  invented  by  Captain  Wille,  of 
the  Norwegian  navy,  and  the  Sigsbee  water-cup,  but  all  em- 
body essentially'  the  same  principle. 

Most  of  you  have  seen  thermometers  which  register  the 
greatest  rise  or  fall  of  the  fluid  in  their  tubes  by  means  of  a 
little  enclosed  index  like  a  double-headed  pin,  and  which 
are  known  as  self-registering.  Such  an  apparatus  is  evi- 
dently necessary  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of  the  temperatures 
of  the  deep  sea,  since  no  one  can  read  the  thermometers 
when  submerged,  and  the  height  of  the  column  when  hauled 
in  will  necessaril}'  represent  only  the  latest  temperature 
near  the  surface. 

All  attempts  to  use  ordinary  self-registering  thermometers 
in  deep-sea  work  failed  as  soon  as  tried ;  not  only  because 
the  immense  pressure  of  the  sea  water  at  great  depths  com- 
pressed the  bulb  of  the  thermometer,  thus  forcing  the  fluid 
in  the  tube  to  a  point  far  above  that  which  would  register 
the  actual  temperature,  but  because  the  pressure  was  usually 
sufficient  to  crush  the  bulb  and  tube  into  fragments  at  a 
comparatively  moderate  depth.  At  2,500  fathoms,  which  is 
the  average  depth  of  the  ocean,  the  pressure  is  over  three 
tons  to  the  square  inch,  which  is  far  beyond  the  endurance 
of  any  ordinar}^  thermometer  bulb.  To  overcome  this 
difficulty,  sometimes  the  entire  thermometer  and  sometimes 
the  bulb  of  the  thermometer  has  been  surrounded  by  a  sec- 
ond bulb  nearly  filled  with  alcohol,  so  that  the  outer  bulb 
was  supported  by  the  fluid  and  the  air  bubble  by  yielding 
to  compression  would  relieve  the  interior  bulb  from  its  evil 
effects.  This  method  has  proved  completely  successful  and 
the  thermometers  now  in  use  for  deep-sea  work  arc  entirely 
of  this  description.  Those  with  an  exposed  stem  and  double 
bulb  are  preferred  as  responding  more  readily  to  the  tem- 
perature, though  subject  to  a  slight  correction  for  pressure 
from  which  the  totally  enclosed  instrument  is  free. 

Sir  John  Ross,  on  his  remarkable  voyage  in  1818,  was 
supplied  with  thermometers  of  this  sort,  and  took  the  first 


i»i:i:i'-sKA  Kxn.oitATiox.  ].")! 

dccp-sea  tenipcratuivs.  But  tla-  instrument  .sufni.s  to  have 
been  forgotten  even  in  England,  lor,  in  tlie  subsequent 
voyages  of  Beeehcy  (1825)  and  LUtke,  (182(;)  only  common 
thermometers  were  supplied,  and  the  device  seems  to  have 
been  inde|)endently  re-invented  by  Glaishcr,  Xegretti,  and 
Miller,  within  the  last  twenty  years.  As  the  thermometei-s 
most  commonly  used  for  this  purpose  are  made  by  the  firm 
of  Casella,  in  London,  they  are  usually  called  Casella  ther- 
mometers;  Xegretti  and  Zambra,  of  London,  have  invented 
another  form  of  thermometer  less  convenient  in  size  and 
shape  than  the  Casella.  but  which  offers  a  meritorious  ad- 
vance in  some  other  directions. 

Metallic  thermometers,  registering  temperatures  by  the 
unequal  contraction  and  ex[)ansion  of  different  metals  com- 
bined in  one  instrument,  have  been  invented,  and,  while 
perfect  in  theory,  have  not  been  found  satisfactory,  except 
in  moderate  dej,)ths,  when  put  to  actual  test. 

Having  described  the  various  instruments  employed,  it 
remains  to  indicate  briefly  the  manner  in  which  they  are 
used,  premising  that,  for  the  minute  det-ails  of  operations  of 
some  complexity,  it  will  be  necessary  for  those  interested  to 
refer  to  special  treatises  on  the  subject. 

For  good  work  in  great  depths  of  water  a  steam  vessel  is 
ab.^olutely  necessary.  It  is  important  that  the  lead  line, 
whether  of  rope  or  not,  should  descend  pcrpcntlicularly,  as 
otherwise  the  length  of  line  run  out  does  not  indicate  the 
true  depth  of  the  water,  and  greater  strain  on  the  line  is  in- 
volved in  hauling  in.  Now  at  sea  there  is  always  some 
wave  motion  or  swell,  even  in  the  calmest  weather,  and  un- 
less the  ves.sel  can  be  kept  in  her  original  position  by  a 
gentle  use  of  the  propelling  machinery  she  will  certainly 
drift  away  from  the  spot  at  which  the  lead  was  dropped  into 
the  water.  In  running  lines  of  .soundings  the  u.se  of  .^^tc^rn 
is  also  necessary  to  continue  on  the  desired  course  irrei^pect- 
ive  of  the  winds.  The  distance  between  any  two  staitons, 
not  tixed  by  astronomical  observation  or  bearings  on  land, 
can  also  be  determined  more  accurately  in  the  case  of  a  ves- 
sel under  steam.     A  steam-engine  is  also  re(piired  to  haul 


152  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

in  the  line,  which  in  dredging  would  otherwise  require  the 
labor  of  many  seamen. 

The  operation  of  sounding  is  sufficiently  simple,  and  re- 
quires no  explanation.  A  thermometer  is  usually  attached 
to  the  line  at  a  short  distance  above  the  lead  or  sounding 
cup.  If  serial  temperatures  are  desired  several  thermome- 
ters may  be  attached  to  different  parts  of  tlie  line,  or  several 
water  bottles  if  water  samples  are  required. 

In  dredging  or  trawling  the  dredge  or  trawl  is  lowered  to 
the  bottom  by  a  line  of  sufficient  strength.  This,  in  the 
work  of  the  Coast  Survey,  is  of  wire  rope,  as  suggested  by 
Prof.  Alex.  Agassiz,  which,  as  compared  with  the  rope  used 
on  the  Challenger  expedition,  saves  much  friction,  much 
room  in  stowing  on  the  vessel,  and  easier  handling,  with  no 
loss  of  strength,  and  a  great  gain  in  the  time  occupied  in 
reaching  the  bottom  and  hauling  in.  In  order  that  the 
motion  of  the  vessel  in  drawing  the  dredge  over  the  bottom 
may  not  tend  to  raise  its  mouth  off  the  bottom,  a  weight  is 
usually  attached  to  the  line  at  some  distance  in  advance  of 
the  dredge  and  some  slack  line  is  run  out,  the  resulting  po- 
sition of  the  ship,  weight,  and  dredge  being  shown  on  the 
diagram  exhibited. 

On  the  1st  of  September,  1818,  Sir  John  Ross,  R.  N.,  ran 
out  1,000  fathoms  of  line,  and  in  the  mud,  brought  up  by 
the  sounding-cup,  were  tubicolous  worms,  while  at  800 
fathoms  was  entangled  a  fine  brittle  star-fish,  sometimes 
known  as  a  "  Medusa's  Head  "  on  account  of  its  many  arms. 
This  shoAvs  that  the  actual  depth  could  not  have  exceeded 
800  fathoms  (since  star-fish  do  not  swim,)  and  was  probably 
less,  but  it  is  the  first  recorded  instance  of  the  capture  of 
animals  from  any  such  depth. 

In  1817,  Sir  James  Clarke  Ross,  R.  N.,  published  an  ac- 
count of  his  antarctic  voyage,  in  Avhich  he  states  that  seve- 
ral shell-fish  Avere  brought  up  from  1,000  fathoms  on  that 
expedition,  and  that  he  believes  the  bed  of  the  ocean  to 
be  teeming  Avith  animal  life. 

■  In  spite  of  such  testimony  the  existence  of  life  on  the  sea 
bottom,  at  a  depth  beyond  tAvo  or  three  hundred  fathoms^ 


DEEP-SEA  j:\I'I.<)i;ation.  1')3 

was  generally  doubted  or  denied  u\>  to  a  comparatively  re- 
cent time. 

Between  1840  and  l.S.")(),  I'n.f.  ]:d\vard  I\)rbes,  of  Britain, 
prosecuted  extensive  researches  into  the  fauna  of  the  ocran 
around  Great  Britain. and  also  in  the  .Egean  sea  durin^^  the 
Mediterranean  survey.  Assisted  by  Jetlreys,  MacAndivw, 
Ball,  and  otlurs,  dredging  in  moderate  depths  was  energeti- 
cally pro.secuted  and  facts  gathered  together.  Forbes  was 
the  first  to  philosophically  treat  these  question.s,  and  was  a 
true  pioneer  in  this  work.  But  some  peculiarities  of  the 
particular  part  of  the  Mediterranean,  in  which  his  researches 
were  conducted,  led  him  to  the  belief,  true  only  for  that 
locality,  that  animal  life  dies  out  in  the  region  between  two 
hundred  and  three  hundred  fathoms  in  depth,  and  that  a 
zero  of  life  is  reached  about  the  latter  point. 

The  j)remature  death  of  Forbes  l)rought  to  an  untimely 
end  those  studies  which  would  have  doubtless  modified  his 
views,  while  the  weight  of  his  oiiinion,  and  the  i)eculiar 
charm  of  his  personality  fingered  after  him  with  such  eflect 
as  to  render  naturalists,  in  general,  incredulous  or  indifferent 
to  evidence  which  gradually  accumulated  to  show  that  he 
was  in  error. 

In  LS4G,  Admiral  8pratt,  K.  X.,  dredged  in  olO  fathoms 
several  shell-fish,  in  the  vicinity  of  Malta. 

In  1850,  the  veteran  professor  Michael  Sars  enumerated 
nineteen  kinds  of  animals,  obtained  by  him  otl"  the  coast  of 
Norway,  in  more  than  300  fathoms. 

In  1800,  Dr.  G.  G.  Wallich,  naturalist  to  a  Briti.sh  sound- 
ing exi»edition  in  the  North  Atlantic,  in  H.  M.  S.  Bulldog, 
commanded  by  Gai>tain  Sir  Leojiold  McClintock,  obtained  a 
mnnber  of  star-li<hes  whirh  had  attached  themselves  to  a 
sounding-line  which  ha<l  re-^ted  on  the  bottom  at  a  tlepth  of 
1,2<)0  fathoms.  On  his  return  hi.  Wallich  i»ui)lished  the 
tirst  part  of  a  work  on  "  The  Atlantic  Sea-bed,'  in  which  he 
warmly  advocated  the  view  of  the  existence  of  life  at  great 
depths.  About  the  same  time  a  broken  cable  was  taken  up 
from  a  depth  of  1.200  fathoms,  in  the  Mediterranean,  u[M)n 
which  a  small  true  coral  had  ;:rown  ~^i>""  tlir  cal)le  was  laid. 


154  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

This  was  discussed  by  Milne-Edwards,  the  distinguished 
French  naturalist.  Meanwhile  the  energetic  Scandinavian 
naturalists  were  pushing  their  researches  into  the  deeper 
water  along  the  Norwegian  coast. 

Still  these  facts  failed  to  secure  that  general  consideration 
which  was  necessary,  in  order  that  they  should  have  their 
appropriate  effect  on  scientific  opinion.  Individual  natu- 
ralists, it  is  true,  were  more  or  less  impressed;  the  views  of 
Forbes  were  occasionally  called  in  question,  but  it  was  re- 
served for  American  naturalists  and  hydrographers  to  initi- 
ate that  series  of  researches  which  has  revolutionized  scien- 
tific opinion,  remodelled  our  views  of  the  physical  conditions 
of  the  deep  sea,  and  culminated  in  the  most  remarkable  and 
fruitful  scientific  expeditions  of  any  age. 

In  May,  1867,  under  instructions  from  the  Superintendent 
of  the  Coast  Survey,  Assistants  Henry  Mitchell  and  L.  F. 
de  Pourtales  explored  the  narrow  part  of  the  Gulf  stream 
between  the  northwest  end  of  Cuba  and  the  American  coast. 
Dredgings  were  undertaken  in  depths  extending  nearly  to 
five  hundred  fathoms,  and  representatives  of  all  branches 
of  the  animal  kingdom  below  the  fishes  were  brought  up. 
The  work  was  interrupted  by  an  outbreak  of  yellow-fever 
on  board,  but  the  main  facts  were  sufficiently  verified,  and 
their  important  bearings  fully  set  forth  in  the  report  of 
Pourtales.  The  depths  from  which  these  animals  were  ob- 
tained were  not  greater  than  those  from  which  Sars  had 
obtained  living  organisms  on  the  Norwegian  coast,  but  those 
collected  by  Sars  were  mostly  animals  common  to  the  adja- 
cent shore,  or  which  might  be  expected  to  be  found  in  shal- 
low water  by  fuller  search.  But  the  Gulf-stream  dredgings 
revealed  an  entirely  new  and  beautiful  series  of  forms,  many 
of  them  like  nothing  which  had  previously  been  known  to 
naturalists — corals,  sponges,  crinoids,  starfish,  echini,  shells, 
worms,  crustaceans — all  offered  new  and  elegant  representa- 
tives which  attracted  the  attention  of  specialists  in  every 
branch  of  marine  zoology.  In  the  following  year  six  lines 
of  dredgings  were  run  b}^  the  Coast  Survey  observers  across 
the  Gulf  stream,  from  the  Florida  reefs  to  the  deep  sea  be- 


DKEP-.Si:.\    I.Xri.nKATION.  155 

voiul  tlio  sLrcani.  Nciirly  one  lniiuln'<l  hauls  of  tin-  dredge 
wc'iv  made  in  all,  aud  (iruanL^ins  were  l)n)ii<,dit  up  1)V  the 
bushel,  espeeially  iVoui  a  region  averaging  somewhat  less 
than  three  liundred  fathoms,  but  also  to  some  extent  from 
the  <lecper  waters. 

The  work  of  18(i7,  however  unimi^orlanl  in  the  actual 
bulk  of  the  eolleetions  made  and  the  depth  reached,  when 
eom|)ared  with  more  recent  investigations  of  the  same  kind, 
was  really  the  initiation  of  a  new  era  in  research.  When 
we  look  back  at.  the  history  of  deep-sea  exi)loration  we  see 
that  this  need  not  have  been  so,  perhaps  we  may  say  ought 
not  to  have  been  so,  but  as  a  i)lain  matter  of  fact  it  was  so, 
in  spite  of  tlie  absence  of  any  emphasis  upon  it  in  foreign 
accounts  of  the  progress  of  such  investigations. 

In  1808,  fresh  publications  were  made  by  8ars,  father  and 
son,  whose  researches  on  the  Norwegian  coasts  have  l)een 
alluded  to.     On  the  coast  of  Portugal,  Bocage  and  Perceval 
AVright  dredged  in  nearly  live  hundred  fathoms  from  an 
open  boat,  obtaining  the  remarkable  "glass  sponge,"  ILj- 
alonema.    Wyville  Thomson  and  Carpenter  in  the  Lightning 
explored  the  sea-bed  south  of  the  Faroe  Isles,  and  reached 
a  deptli  of  550  fathoms.     In  1800,  the  intense  interest  ex- 
cited l)y  these  discoveries  led  to  the  voyages  of  the  British 
naval  vessel  Porcupine,  with  Dr.  J.  Gwyn  Jcflreys,  Professor 
Wyville  Thomson,  and  Dr.  W.  B.  Carpenter,  in  charge  of 
the  scientilic  operations,  and  dredgings  were  made  in  2,435 
fathoms,  or  nearly  three  miles,  reaching  nearly  the  deepest 
{)art  of  the  North  Atlantic.       Smitt  and  Ljungmans,  in  the 
Swedish  frigate  Josephiiie.  dredged  from  the  coast  of  Por- 
tugal to  the  Azores,  and  then  across  the  Atlantic  to  America. 
The  third  cruise  of   the  T.  S.  Coast  Survey  steamer  Bibb. 
1  Robert  Piatt,  U.  S.  N.  commanding,  was  made,  with   Pour- 
tales  in  charge  of  the  dredging  operations,      lie  was  later 
in  the  season  joined  by  Prof.  Louis  Agassi/,  whose  report  on 
the  work  to  the  Superintendent  of  the  Survey  states  that 
•  we  owe  to  the  Coast  Survey  the  first  broad  and  compre- 
hensive basis  for  an  exi)loration  of   tiie  sea  bottom  on  a 
lart^e  scale,  opening  a  new  era   in  /oological  and  geological 


15G  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

research."  In  1870,  the  Porcupine  was  again  sent  out  by 
the  British  Government,  and,  under  the  supervision  of 
Jeffreys  and  Carpenter,  work  was  done  between  Britain  and 
Gibraltar,  and  thence  into  the  Mediterranean. 

In  1871  the  Coast  fSurvey  hiunched  a  new  steamer,  the 
Blake,  especially  adapted  for  hydrographic  work  in  the 
deep  sea,  which,  under  the  command  of  Lieut.  Commander 
Howell,  at  once  began  work  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Another 
steamer,  the  Hassler,  for  work  on  the  Pacific  coast,  was  pre- 
pared, and  sailed  for  California  via  Cape  Horn  with  Prof. 
Agassiz,  Pourtales,  Dr.  Thos.  Hill,  Dr.  Franz  Steindachner 
and  others,  as  a  scientific  corps.  Much  natural  history 
work  was  done,  but  deep-sea  ^vork  was  rendered  impracti- 
cable by  unforeseen  circumstances  after  the  voyage  began. 
In  1872  the  voyage  of  the  Challenger,  now  of  world-wide 
celebrity,  was  begun  under  the  scientific  supervision  of  Sir 
Wyville  Thomson  and  the  naval  superintendence  of  Capt. 
Sir  G.  Nares,  R.  X.  This  voyage  extended  to  both  oceans; 
soundings  were  made  to  4,475  fathoms,  dredgings  to  3,875 
fathoms,  and  the  trawl  was  used  in  over  3,000  fathoms. 
This  expedition  occupied  three  years  and  five  months,  and 
the  scientific  results  are  being  published  by  the  British 
Government  in  a  magnificent  series  of  quarto  volumes. 
During  the  year  1872  the  Coast  Survey  continued  its  syste- 
matic development  of  the  hydrography  of  the  Gulf  of  Mex- 
ico and  the  adjacent  sea,  the  dredgings  being  taken  under 
the  supervision  of  Dr.  W.  Stimpson.  They  formed  the  last 
scientific  work  of  that  lamented  iiaturalist,  whose  dredgings 
and  investigation  of  the  marine  fauna  of  the  Eastern  United 
States  had  extended  over  twenty  years. 

The  deep  water  work  of  the  United  States  Fish  Commis- 
sion, organized  during  the  preceding  year,  began  this  season, 
and  has  steadily  grown  in  importance  and  extent  from  year 
to  year,  under  the  direction  of  Prof  S.  F.  Baird  and  the  im- 
mediate supervision  of  Prof  A.  E.  Verrill. 

In  1873  Capt.  Geo.  E.  Belknap,  U.  S.  N.,  undertook  his 
now  celebrated  sounding  cruise  across  the  North  Pacific,  in 
the  U.  S.  S.  Tuscarora.     No  dredging  was  done,  though  sev- 


DEEP-SKA    i:Xl'I.ni;ATI()N.  IGT 

I'lal  animal-  \vri(«  l.roiiulit  up  l»y  llu-  sounding-ciiji,  l)ut  tlic 
expedition  is  nieniorahle  as  liavini;  been  the  oceasion  (tillic 
lirst  i)raelieal  use  of  wire  in  sounding,  for  the  important 
improvements  introduced  hv  the  eommander  into  sounding 
instruments  and  methods,  and  for  tlie  great  depths  obtained 
in  the  norljjwestern  j/art  of  the  Paeilie.  being  4,0")')  fathoms, 
the  greatest  depth  ever  measured  by  reliable  means,  and  one 
\\liieh  is  jirobably  itttle,  if  at  all,  exeeedcd  in  any  part  of 
tlu' oeean.  This  eruise  terminated  in  August,  1X74.  Since 
then  expeditions  have  multiplied,  and  to  enumerate  them 
with  the  >\KUv  at  my  eonniiand  would  be  h.irdly  more  in- 
teresting than  the  ineorporation  of  a  statistical  table  into 
this  already,  (in  spite  of  its  titli',)  I  fear,  rather  dry  di.s- 
conrsc.  1  cannot  avoid,  however,  a  reference  to  the  hydro- 
gra})hic  work  of  the  Baehe  under  Sigsbee  and  J5artlett,  in 
the  GwU  and  ("aribl)ean  sea,  in  i.S74-l879.  Not  only  was 
a  greater  area  of  deej)  water  more  thoroughly  worked  out 
l>y  these  otfici-is  than  has  yet  been  equally  explored  in  any 
other  ]»art  of  the  globe,  but  the  improvements  in  sounding 
and  <lredging  apparatus  made  during  the  progress  of  the 
work  have  almost  revolutionized  such  investigations.  These 
have  been  in  part  alluded  to  already.  During  parts  of  1877, 
1878,  and  187'.>,  Professor  Alex.  Agassiz  made  one  of  the 
j)arty,  witli  su})ervision  over  the  dredging  work.  To  him  is 
due,  among  many  other  details,  the  substitution  of  wire- 
cable  for  hemi»-line  in  drc^'dging,  which  bore  especially  im- 
})ortant  fruit;  and  by  him  the  most  important  scientific 
results  of  these  cruises  were  aiuiounced  to  naturalists. 

The  historic  i)art  of  this  lecture  nuist  close  with  a  mere 
reference  to  the  valuable  work  of  the  Norwegians,  Sars, 
Friele,  Daniels.sen,etc.,  in  the  North  Atlantic,  on  the  steamer 
X'iuingcn,  (1870-8;)  of  Jeffreys,  in  II.  M.S.  \'alorous,  (1875;) 
Murray,  in  H.  M.  S.  Knight  Errant,  (1880;)  and  the  French 
ex])edition  of  1881,  on  the  Travailleur. 

This  model  of  the  (hdf  of  Mexico,  from  the  work  of  tlie 
Coast-Survey  hydrograi)liers,  illustrates  the  topograpiiy  of 
that  part  of  the  sea  bottom.  You  will  observe  the  singular 
plateau  which  extend-  about  the  peninsula  of  Yucatan  and 


158  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

west  from  Florida.  Formerly  it  was  sif^posecl  that  the 
peninsula  of  Florida  was  due  to  alluvium  from  the  rivers 
of  the  Mississippi  valley  and  other  sources  settling  against 
a  barrier  of  coral  reefs  which  grew  toward  the  south  and 
west,  as  their  northern  portions  were  smothered  by  sediment. 
This  shows,  however,  that  the  coral  reefs  have  simply  availed 
themselves  of  the  advantages  presented  by  the  steep  edge  of 
the  above-mentioned  plateau  so  abundantly  supplied  with 
iood  for  them  by  ocean  currents;  and  that,  in  its  main 
features,  Florida  was  outlined  hj  different  and  far  older 
agencies  than  the  now  existing  coral  reefs.  The  same  is 
evidently  true  of  Yucatan. 

•To  another  point  I  would  call  your  attention  as  of  econ- 
omic interest.  We  know  that  by  most  engineers  it  is  be- 
lieved that  experience  has  proved  that  channel-making  by 
the  jetty  process  is  a  mere  temporary  alleviation  of  bars  and 
other  obstructions  to  commerce.  The  j)ermanent  success  of 
the  Eads'  jetties  is  even  now  a  matter  of  doubt,  and  there  is 
no  doubt  that  in  time  extensions  will  be  called  for.  But  it 
w411  be  observed  that  at  no  other  point  on  the  Gulf  coast  of 
the  United  States  is  the  100  fathom  line  so  near  the  actual 
coast  as  here,  and  the  inference  is,  perhaps,  not  too  far 
fetched  that,  therefore,  not  only  is  it  probable  that  with 
certain  extensions  of  the  jetties  (other  circumstances  per- 
mitting) a  point  will  eventually  be  reached  where  the  slope 
seaward  is  so  steep  that  a  bar  can  hardly  form  or  be  main- 
tained, but  also  that  at  no  other  point  on  the  whole  Gulf 
coast  could  the  jetty  system  have  been  applied  to  the  im- 
provement of  a  river  mouth  with  any  reasonable  prospect 
of  maintaining  a  permanent  channel. 

It  may  also  be  observed,  from  an  examination  of  this 
model,  what  we  should  find  confirmed  by  an  equally  thorough 
survey  of  the  ocean  at  large,  (as  Ave  know  from  recent  exam- 
inations of  the  Atlantic  sea-bed,)  namely,  that  while  the 
sea-bed,  like  the  dry  land,  has  its  irregularities,  the}'  differ 
in  character  from  the  irregularities  of  the  dry  land.  It  is 
true  that  sharp  peaks  and  elevated  rocky  areas  have  been 
discovered  in  both  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific,  though  none 


DKKT-sKA    i:xri.<>i;.M  I<>.\.  159 

appear  in  tin-  (JfillOt"  Mcxii".  lUit,  exclusive  of  these, 
wliicli  probably  jtiojcct  Irom  a  (.oinparativoly  oven  slope, 
tiio  topo«?rai)hy  of  the  sea-bed  in  deep  water  is  carved  in 
broad  and  easy  curves,  which  lind  no  parallel  on  land. 
This  results  from  the  absence  of  denudation  in  the  sea.  On 
the  land,  torrents,  storms,  rivers,  winds,  all  modify  the  sur- 
face, which  must  have  originally  been  much  like  that  of 
the  sea-beil.  (Jullies.f avines,  terraces,  sharit-weathered  rock 
face.s,  peaks,  and  jiinnacles,  are  formed  in  air  by  the  denud- 
ing agencies.  In  the  dee])  sea  there  can  be  no  sharply  limited 
currents  or  denuding  agencies.  Such  currents  as  may  exist 
will  have  ill-dehned  margins,  will  move  at  slow  rates,  and 
cannot  be  conceived  of  as  ploughing  sharp  grooves  or  gullies 
in  the  floor  of  ocean.  It  is  probable  that  the  very  deep  sea 
is  for  the  most  part  a  region  of  profound  quiet,  where  the 
waters  are  and  remain  unmoved,  either  by  the  compara- 
tively superficial  ocean  currents  and  tides,  or  the  pulses  of 
the  waves  as  they  beat  on  distant  shores.  The  great  deeps 
which  you  see  represented  on  this  model  and  in  the  chart 
of  the  Atlantic  sea-bed  here  exhibited  are  not  paralleled 
by  anything  on  dry  land,  except  the  basins  of  the  Great 
Lakes.  Were  they  above  the  sea  they  would  become  lakes 
at  once,  and  would  gradually  be  filled  by  sediments.  Their 
existence  here  in  the  deep  sea  disposes  of  the  hypothesis 
rashly  advanced  by  some  glacialists,  that  great  lake  basins 
are  due  only  to  the  action  of  glaciers;  and  that  without  the 
previous  existence  of  land-ice  there  \vould  be  no  large  lakes 
on  the  earth's  surface.  It  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would 
l>ropose  to  locate  glaciers  on  the  bottom  <>f  tb..  r.nlf  of 
^h'xico. 

The  circulation  of  the  waters  in  the  sea  has  been  ihco- 
retically  accounted  for  by  differences  of  density  due  to 
evaporation  and  consequent  over-salt ness,  and  to  differences 
of  temperature  between  the  water  at  the  poles  and  at  the 
equator.  This  theoretical  circulation  doubtless  exi.sts  in  a 
more  or  less  modified  form,  and  allects  the  actual  motion  of 
the  waters.  F>ut  tlir  existing  oceanic  circulation  in  its 
greatest  part  is  due  directly  to  the  influence  of  the  trade- 
winds,  and  is,  comparativ)  Iv  -iMakiiii:.  superficial. 


160  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

Wc  know  that  the  deep  sea  is  very  cold.  Cold  water 
sinks,  and  a  submarine  polar  indraught  of  cold  water  must 
replace  the  constant  streams  of  tropical  surface  water  which 
floW'  away  from  the  equator,  in  order  that  an  equilibrium 
may  be  maintained.  The  warmest  water  that  has  been 
found  in  the  deep-sea  (over  100  fathoms)  is  at  50°.  5  F.  in 
2,550  fathoms  ;  the  ordinary  temperature  is  but  little  above 
the  freezing  point.  This,  however,  d^es  not  affect  the  life 
of  organisms  existing  there,  which  are  all  cold  blooded, 
many  of  them  coming  into  shallow  water  in  the  Arctic 
regions. 

That  many  problems  in  regard  to  the  deep-sea  are  still 
unsolved,  goes  without  sajang.  Time  does  not  permit  me 
to  discuss  them  here.  In  conclusion,  I  will  briefly  sketch 
the  conditions  of  life  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep-sea. 

In  the  first  place,  fishes  and  organisms  of  almost  every 
marine  group  lower  in  the  scale  than  fishes,  are  to  be  found 
in  the  deeps.  In  order  that  these  animals  may  exist  where 
the  pressure  of  the  water  may  be  several  tons  to  the  square 
inch,  it  is  indispensable. that  their  fleshy  tissues  shall  be  so 
loosely  constituted  that  the  water  shall  be  able  to  permeate 
them  thoroughly,  and  thus  itself  equalize  the  external 
pressure.  Hence,  the  fishes  and  other  large  animals  in- 
habitating  the  abysses  are,  so  far  as  their  flesh  is  concerned, 
of  an  almost  gelatinous  consistency.  While  they  might 
probabl}^  survive  a  ver}'-  gradual  change  of  pressure  and  be 
able  to  live  in  shallow  water,  yet  when  they  are  rapidly 
brought  up  from  the  depths  in  a  dredge,  they  are  invariably 
dead,  their  internal  organs  usually  turned  inside  out,  their 
eyes  starting  from  their  heads,  and  their  forms  more  or  less 
altered  from  the  sudden  decrease  of  pressure  and  expansion 
of  the  tissues. 

Other  inhabitants  of  the  sea-bed  have  rigid  exoskeletons 
or  shells,  but  the  soft  parts  are  always  permeable. 

While  most  of  the  deep-sea  animals  are  small,  fishes, 
certain  spider-like  Crustacea  and  some  echinoderms  attain 
a  considerable  size. 

As  the  depths  must  be  almost  entirely  dark  unless  lighted 


DEEP-SEA    EXF1,(>1{ATI()N.  KU 

by  j>liosj)horoscont  animals,  \vc  ini<^ht  expect  to  liiul  those 
creatures  blanched  or  generally  white.  This  is  true  of  many 
of  them,  but  others  of  all  groups,  are  more  or  less  brilliantly 
colored.  From  disuse  in  some  forms,  the  eyes  have  become 
abortive  or  entirely  lost  ;  others  have  very  large  and  delicate 
eyes,  suitable  lor  .seeing  by  a  very  small  amount  of  light  ; 
yet  still  others  have  eyes  of  about  the  <haracter  normal  in 
the  groups  to  which  they  belong.  The  extreme  quiet  and 
uniformity  of  the  environment  at  the  sea-bed  is  favoraldo 
to  the  development  of  delicate  markings,  and  details  of 
sculpture  in  the  hard  parts  of  shells,  etc.,  and  the  abyssal 
animals  are  notable  for  their  extreme  grace  and  beauty  in 
this  particular,  and  singularly  enough,  also  in  many  species 
for  the  remarkable  elegance  of  their  pearly  lustre.  With 
no  struggle  for  existence,  a  wonderful  range  of  variation 
developes,  unchecked  by  natural  selection,  and  it  is  hard  to 
say  in  certain  groups  what  is  a  species. 

Sea-weeds  do  not  grow  at  great  depths,  hence  these  an- 
imals are  all  carnivorous.  At  first  sight  it  would  seem  as  if 
they  would  destroy  one  anotlier,  but  it  must  be  remembered 
that  even  in  the  o[)en  ocean  there  is  a  constant  rain  of  an- 
imal and  vegetable  matter  slowly  falling  from  the  surface 
toward  the  bottom.  Mr.  Moseley  judges  from  experiment 
that  small  marine  animals  {salpa)  fall  at  the  rate  of  about  a 
mile  in  two  days,  while  the  saltness  of  the  water  prevents 
rapid  decay.  I  have  found  grass  roots,  land  and  fresh  water 
shells  in  dredgings  from  800  fathoms.  It  is  still  a  matter  of 
some  doubt  whether  certain  little  shells  belonging  to  the 
Foram  in  if  era  and  found  in  incalculable  numbers  on  the  sea- 
bed (which  in  many  cases  is  made  up  of  their  remains) 
actually  ever  live  at  the  bottom,  or  wliether  they,  too,  are 
derived  from  tlie  vicinity  of  the  surface  and  sink  oidy  when 
dead  or  dying. 

Hut  I  have  already  trespassed  too  long  on  your  good 
nature,  and  will  conclu<le  this  discourse  by  referring  those 
who  would  pursue  the  subject  further  to  the  authorities 
previously  mentioned,  from  wiiom  I  have  derived  much  as- 

11 


1G2  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

sistanco  in  the  preparation  of  tliis  lecture,  and  to  whom  the 
exploration  of  the  sea-bed  is  chief!}'-  due.* 

*  Depths  of  the  Sea:  C.  Wyville  Thomson;  New  York  and  London,  Macmil- 

lan  &  Co.,  1873. 
Deep-Sea   Exploration:    a  Lecture  by  J-  Gwyn  Jeffreys;  London,  8vo.,  Van 

Voorst,  1 88 1. 
Deep-Sea  Sounding  and  Dredging:    C.   D.   Sigsbee,  Lieut.   Com.   U.   S.   N., 

Asst.  U.  S   Coast  Survey;  Washington,  Gov't  Printing  Office,  1880. 
U.  S.  Coast  Survey  Reports,  1867- 1880. 
Bulletins  Museum  Comparative  Zoology,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  Vols.  I-IX,  1867- 

1S82. 
Reports  of  Jeffreys,  Carpenter,  Thomson  and  others  in  the  Proceedings  of  the 

Royal  Society,  1868- 1880. 
The   Norwegian  North  Atlantic  Expedition— Zoology,  (etc.)  Collett,  Koren 

and  Danielssen,  &c.,  Christiania,  folio,  1880-81. 
Thalassa,  an  Essay  on  the  Depth  Temperature  and  Currents  of  the  Ocean,  by 

John  James  Wild;  London,  Marcus  Ward  &  Co.,  1877. 


HOW  W'V.  SI'l:. 


Lecture  delivere.l    in  the   United   States  Nationcl   Muscnni,  April   2<t.  1.S.S2,    liy 
Dr.  Swan  M.  Burneti-. 


LaDIKS    and    (lENTLK.NfKN: 

WIhmi  man  Hrst  IuuikI  liiiusclf  capable  of  forming  a  proper 
judiiinoiit  of  the  wurkinjj^s  of  Nature,  the  sense  of  vision 
must  luive  excited  in  his  mind  an  emotion  of  the  greatest 
wonder.  That  he  was  co<;-ni/,ant  of  o]>jects  situated  at  dis- 
tances very  remote  and  hcvond  tiic  reach  of  his  touch,  and 
throu^li  a  medium  the  very  exislence-of  which  was  a  mys- 
tery al)()ve  his  compreiiension,  must  liavc  seemed  to  him  a 
prol)leni  whicli  <Ietied  even  an  attempt  at  sohition.  We  are 
not  aware  that  any  effort  lias  been  made  by  savage  or  har- 
l>arous  tribes  to  account  for  any  of  the  phenomena  of  sight. 
They  give  I'cady  explanations  of  the  cause  of  thundei-  and 
lightning,  of  the  origin  of  men  and  animals,  the  creation 
of  hre  and  other  natural  i)henomena,  but  the  sense  of  sight 
is  so  wholly  unlike  anything  else  with  which  they  are 
familiar  that  they  have  no  analogies  t.o  fall  back  on,  and 
must  accept  it  as  a  jaimary  gift  of  the  Divine  Spirit.  It  is 
only  when  the  intellect  has  developed  to  such  a  degree  as  to 
enable  it  to  consider  things  as  related  to  each  other,  and 
analyse  phenomena  as  they  ])resent  them.selvcs  to  the  mintl, 
reducing  them  as  far  as  possible  to  their  constituent  ele- 
ments, that  the  senseof  vision  is  considered  a  subject  within 
the  scope  of  human  investigation.  The  i)hysiology  of  vision, 
therefore,  belongs  preeminently  to  the  .scientific  era  in  the 
hi.^tory  of  intelleitnal  development.  It  lind-^  no  |tlace,  so  far 
as  I  know,  in  the  era  of  superstition.  T(.  tell  you  what  the 
scientific;  method  of  thought  has  accomplished  in  this  field 
is  the  object  of  the  remarks  we  shall  make  this  afternoon. 

In  the  study  of  the  phenomena  jMcsented  by  the  sense  of 
vision  we  find  four  separate  links  in  a  chain  of  .sequences. 
If  any  one  of  these  links  is  missing  there  can  be  no  .sensa- 
tion of  sight. 

The  fir^t  link  in  the  chain,  naturally,  is  the  object  to  be 
seen;  the  second,  the  medium  connecting  this  object  with 

163 


104  SATUPwDAY    LKCTUKES. 

the  eye;  the  third,  the  eye  itself;  and  the  fourth,  the  ner- 
vous center  which  converts  the  impression  made  on  the  eye 
into  a  sensation. 

Of  the  object  to  be  seen,  but  Uttle  need  be  said.  All  that 
is  necessary  being  that  it  be  foufid  in  the  medium  which 
brings  it  in  relation  with  the  eye,  that  is  to  say,  it  must  be 
placed  in  what  we  call  the  light.  As  you  well  know,  no  ob- 
ject situated  in  what  we  call  darkness  can  be  seen.  The 
object  may  be  luminous  within  itself,  that  is,  it  may  gener- 
ate the  light  which  it  gives  off,  as  in  the  case  of  the  sun, 
candle,  lamp,  fire,  &c. ;  or  it  may  merely  reflect  or  throw 
off  the  liirht  which  comes  from  some  other  source,  as  in  the 
ease  with  the  large  majority  of  objects  by  which  we  are  sur- 
rounded ;  but  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  purposes  of 
vision  that  light  proceed  from  it. 

This  light  is  the  second  link  in  our  chain,  and  it  is  one  of 
the  most  wonderful  and  mysterious  of  the  workings  of  Na- 
ture. What  is  light?  Is  it  a  something,  oronly  an  essence 
or  a  spirit?  What  are  the  laws  governing  its  action? 
These  are  ciuestions  which  the  earlier  philosophers  asked 
themselves  and  sought,  for  a  long  time  in  vain,  to  answer. 

We  will  not  occupy  your  attention  with  any  of  the 
theories  before  the  time  of  Newton,  as  it  was  his  genius 
which  first  placed  the  study  of  the  operations  of  light  on  a 
solid  basis. 

His  theory  was  that  all  luminous  bodies  gave  off  minute 
impalpable  corpuscles  which  passed  directly  into  the  eye 
and  affected  the  retina  and  optic  nerve.  This  hypothesis 
was,  of  course,  not  susceptible  of  demonstration,  but  he  suc- 
ceeded by  it  in  accounting  for  many  of  the  manifestations 
of  light  in  a  manner  more  satisfactory  than  had  been  done 
by  any  other  theory  then  known.  The  corpuscular  or 
"  emission"  theory,  having  the  weight  of  the  great  name  of 
Newton  attached  to  it,  was  accepted  by  most  philosophers  of 
his  time,  and,  with  the  additional  weight  of  tradition,  af- 
fected many  w^ho  came  after  him.  All  theories  respecting 
the  ultimate  facts  of  any  phenomenon  in  nature  must  be 
based  largely  on  a  priori  reasoning,  for  no  ultimate  knowl- 


I  low    w  !•;  SHI':.  h;.") 

od_m' is  })r()val)lc.  ( )iii-  liuls  ivucli  back  (jiily  to  a  ccrtiiin 
j)oint — never  to  the  hejjfinning.  Hciencc  is  constantly  pusli- 
in<:,-  hack  lur  line  of  priniordial  data,  Ijiit  it  is  hardly 
l)robablc  ibaL  the  tiine  will  ever  come  when  the  essence,  so 
to  speak,  of  any  nianifestiition  in  natun;  can  be  demonstrated. 
Nature's  Jaws,  we  can  study  and  unravel — the  origin  of 
these  laws  will  probably  ever  remain  an  unsolved  mv.stery. 
The  nature  of  light  is  one  of  these  mysteries  which  can  be 
apj)roaclied  by  speculation  alone,  and  as  none  of  the  po.'*- 
tulates  need  be  demonstrated,  the  Held  for  the  exerci.se  of 
the  speculative  faculty  is  j)ractically  unlimited.  Newton 
adopted  his  corpuscular  theory,  not  because  he  could  dem- 
onstrate the  existence  of  the  corpuscles,  but  because  by  so 
doing  he  thought  he  was  explaining  the  phenomena  with 
the  least  violence  to  known  laws  and  the  scientific  princi])les 
of  the  time. 

There  was  one  great  original  mind,  however,  which  came 
after  him,  that  refused  to  accept  any  theory  on  any  other 
man's  authority,  however  great  that  man  might  be.  This 
was  Thomas  Young,  probably  the  most  universal  genius 
England  has  given  to  the  world.  Thomas  Young  did  not 
consider  the  corpuscular  theory  of  light  satisfactory,  a!id  pro- 
ceeded to  revive  and  modify  what  is  called  the  undulatory 
theory,  which  had  been  broached  by  Huygens  Ijefore  the  time 
of  Newton.  By  this  theory  he  was  enabled  to  account  in  a 
more  consistent  and  .satisfactory  manner  for  some  of  the 
manifestations  of  light  than  could  be  done  by  the  corpus- 
cular theory  of  Newton.  This  undulatory  hypothesis  as  pro- 
mulgated by  Young,  is  the  basis  of  all  modern  speculations 
as  to  the  nature  and  laws  of  light.  In  common  with  all 
theories  dealing  with  the  essential  nature  of  things,  it  draws 
largely  upon  our  credulity,  and  asks  us  to  accept  as  data 
as  many  postulates  which  have  never  been  and  which  can, 
from  the  very  nature  of  the  case,  never  be  i)roven  as  does 
tlie  corpuscular  theory  of  Newton. 

In  the  first  place,  we  are  recjuircd  to  su})i»ose  the  existence 
of  an  ether  which  is  coextensive  with  the  universe.  It  tills 
the  interstellar  space  to  the  farthest  fixed  star,  whose  distance 


166  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

is  incalculable,  and  insinuates  itself  into  the  infinitesmally 
minute  interstices  of  the  hardest  known  substances.  It  ex- 
ists alike  in  a  vacuum  and  in  the  substance  of  the  diamond. 
It  is  of  such  extreme  tenuitj^  that  a  mass  of  it  as  large  as 
the  earth  weighs  only  a  few  grains.  It  is  the  least  material 
of  all  substances,  and  yet  it  possesses  a  tension  or  elasticity 
far  in  excess  of  any  matter  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge. 

This  is  the  medium  through  which  that  form  of  force 
we  call  light  is  supposed  to  act.  It  has,  as  you  see,  no  ex- 
istence whatever  as  a  fact  capable  of  demonstration  by  any 
of  the  ordinary  methods  of  proof  It  exists  alone  in  that 
highest  faculty  of  the  mind  which,  by  its  creative  power, 
sets  man  above  the  beasts  of  the  field — the  imagination. 

But  our  task  does  not  end  here.  We  have  the  medium, 
but  we  have  not  the  manner  in  which  this  is  acted  on  to 
produce  the  effect  we  know  as  light.  Again  the  imagina- 
tion must  be  brought  into  action.  The  mind  which  first 
conceived  of  light  as  being  a  force,  the  result  of  wave  mo- 
tion, gave  us  the  key  which  has  unlocked  some  of  the  deep- 
est mysteries  of  Nature,  and  made  modern  physical  science 
and  all  that  belongs  to  it,  and  has  resulted  from  it  possible; 
for  th^  foundation  of  the  physical  science  of  the  present 
day  is  the  fact  that  all  energ}^  is  but  a  mode  of  mo- 
tion. I  think  it  can  be  broadly  stated  that  all  forms  of 
energy,  whether  in  the  organic  or  inorganic  world,  are  but 
modes  of  motion.  The  ancient  philosopher,  when  asked  to 
define  Life,  moved  his  arms,  drew  the  air  into  his  lungs, 
and  expelled  it,  and  said,  "  This  is  life,"  meaning  that  all 
we  knew  of  life  were  its  phenomena.  But  he  explained  bet- 
ter than  he  was  aware  of.  He  expressed  thus  the  idea 
which  underlies  the  modern  concepts  of  Nature  and  her 
laws,  that  life  is  motion.  Without  energy,  as  expressed  by 
some  form  of  movement,  there  can  be  no  life;  and  life  is 
but  one  form  of  energy,  one  particular  kind  of  force.  All 
other  forces  in  Nature  are  likewise  but  representations  of 
some  kind  of  motion — they  are  not  Things.  The  whole  of  the 
teaching  of  modern  science  tends  to  the  demonstration  of 
the  fact  that  .there  are  but  two  Things  in  nature — matter  and 
its  motion. 


HOW  WK  sEi:.  167 

Applying  this  principle  to  the  other,  Young  supposed 
that  the  light  force  was  due  to  an  undulatory  motion  set  up 
in  it  by  the  vibrations  of  the  molecules  of  luminous  bodies- 
It  is  now  a  pretty  well  demonstrated  fact  that  when  bodies 
get  into  the  condition  known  as  "hot,"  a  change  takes  place 
in  the  ultimate  i>articles  of  the  matter  comjKjsing  them. 
They  are  set  in  vibration.  The  more  heated  they  become 
the  more  extensive  will  these  molecular  vibrations  be;  and 
as  the  space  occupied  by  the  molecules  in  a  state  of  vibra- 
tion is  greater  than  when  they  are  at  rest,  the  substance 
when  heated  is  larger  than  when  cool.  The  motion  of  these 
ultimate  molecules  is  communicated  to  the  ether  by  which 
they  are  surrounded,  and  it  is  set  in  undulatory  motion, 
just  as  waves  are  produced  on  the  surface  of  water  when  a 
body  is  let  fall  upon  it,  which  disturbs  the  relation  of  its 
molecules.  As  the  motion  of  the  molecules  of  the  heated 
body  is  regular,  the  wave  motion  communicated  to  the  sur- 
rounding ether  will  also  be  regular,  that  is,  the  waves  will 
follow  each  other  at  regular  intervals  of  time. 

Up  to  this  point  everything  must  be  taken  for  granted, 
for,  as  I  have  said,  not  one  of  the  accepted  facts  is  capable 
of  experimental  demonstration.  Accepting  this  much,  how- 
ever, we  can  deduce  certain  laws  which  are  capable  of  sub- 
stantiation by  ex])eriment,  and  by  them  we  are  able  to  ex- 
plain all  or  nearly  all  the  phenomena  of  light  and  vision. 
Though  we  have  shown  you  that  light  is  only  a  form  of 
force — a  mode  of  motion — it  will  be  more  convenient  to 
speak  of  it  as  a  Thing,  without  reference  to  the  ether  or 
wave  motion.  Thus,  wlien  we  say  that  light  travels  at  the 
rate  of  1SG,00U  miles  per  second,  we  mean  that  the  motion 
communicated  by  the  luminous  body  to  the  ether  is  felt 
180,000  miles  away  at  the  end  of  a  second  of  time.  There 
are  a  few  fixed  laws  governing  the  action  of  ligiit,  to  which 
we  briefly  call  your  attention,  because  on  them  dci)ends  all 
our  knowledge  of  the  physiology  of  vision. 

In  the  first  place,  we  know  that  light  moves  in  straight 
lines,  and  never  turns  out  of  its  course  unless  it  meets  with 
some  substance  having  the  property  of  deflecting  it.     There 


168 


SATURDAY    LECTURES. 


are  two  forms  of  deflection.  In  one  the  light  is  thrown 
back  by  the  surface  of  the  interposing  body  in  the  direction 
from  which  it  came ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  reflected.  In  the 
other  it  passes  through  the  body,  but  its  course  after  its 
passage  is  not  the  same  as  before ;  in  which  case  it  is  said 
to  be  refracted.  It  is  with  this  latter  we  have  especially  to 
do  in  treating  of  the  physiology  of  vision.  Without  enter- 
ing into  a  detailed  consideration  of  all  the  laws  of  refrac- 
tion, we  will  state  that  when  the  refracting  body  has  a  cer- 
tain form,  which  we  call  a  lens,  all  the  rays  coming  from 
any  one  point  of  an  object  are,  after  refraction,  brought  to- 
gether in  another  point.  Such  a  lens  is  shown  in  the  ac- 
companying figure. 


Fig.  I. 

All  rays  proceeding  from  the  point  A  are,  after  their  pass- 
age through  the  lens,  united  in  the  point  a,  and  all  rays 
proceeding  from  the  point  B  are,  after  refraction,  united  in 
the  point  b,  and  raj's  proceeding  from  all  points  between  A 
and  B  are  united  at  points  between  a  and  h.  The  result  of 
this  is  that  in  ah  we  have  an  image  of  the  object  AB.  There 
are  two  peculiarities  of  this  image  to  which  I  want  to  call 
your  attention.  The  first  is  that  it  is  much  smaller  than 
the  object  AB,  and  the  second  is  that  it  is  turned  upside 
down.  Xow,  when  we  come  to  regard  the  eye  as  an  optical 
instrument,  we  will  find  it  to  differ  in  principle  in  no  essen- 
tial particular  from  this  simple  lens.     The  whole  function 


iiow    \\i:  si;i:. 


169 


ot"  the  oyi',  tVttin  ;iii  optic;!!  point  of  view,  is  to  fonii  :i  siuall, 
clearly  cletiiUHl,  but  inverted  image  of  external  objects  on 
the  expansion  of  the  oi)tic  nerv(>.  We  will  now  proceed  to 
see  in  what  manner  it  does  this.  This  leads  us,  tirst.to  a 
brief  description  of  tlic  ucnt  ral  anatomy  of  the  eye. 

As  the  human  eye  has  to  be  moved  in  various  directions, 
indei)endent  of  the  movements  of  the  head,  it  must  be  more 
or  less  globular  in  shape.  It  is  thus  allowed  to  lit  more 
easilv  in  the  bony  orbit  in  which  it  is  encasetl,  and  the  six 
muscles  which  move  it  can  more  readily  control  its  motions. 
The  ball  of  the  eye  is  a  hollow  globe  containing  the  lenses 
neeessary  for  producing  images  of  external  objects  and  the 
expansion  of  the  optic  nerve  on  which  these  images  are  to 
fall. 

There  are  certain  physical  conditions  which  have  to  be 
fulfilled  in  order  that  the  image  produced  by  any  optical 
apparatus  shall  be  clear  and  distinct.  We  will  take  the 
])liotographer's  camera  as  an  illu.stration.  In  the  first  place 
we  find  that  the  whole  apparatus  is  encased  in  a  box  for  the 
protection  of  the  more  essential  parts.  We  observe  further 
that  this  box  is  lined  with  black  in  order  that  no  light  shall 
be  reflected  from  its  sides  that  will  mar  the  distinctness  of 
the  image  formed  by  the  lens.  The  lens  is  placed  in  front, 
and  at  the  back  there  is  a  screen  of  ground-glass  on  which 
the  image  formed  by  the  lens  f(dls.  When  sitting  for  your 
I)hotogra[)h  you  will  also  have  noticed  that  the  operator  was 
at  great  pains  to  properly  focus  the  instrument  so  that  the 
image  should  be  clearly  formed  on  the  ground-gIa.ss  plate  at 
the  back,  and  if  you  take  the  pains  to  examine  his  instru- 
ment you  will  find  just  l)ehind  the  lens  a  black  diaphragm 
with  a  circular  hole  much  smaller  than  the  lens.  This  lat- 
ter is  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  off  those  rays  which  pass 
through  the  parts  of  the  lens  near  the  edge.  These  rays, 
unless  the  lens  is  ground  in  the  most  accurate  manner,  add 
nothing  to  the  di.stinctne.<s  of  the  image,  l»ut,  on  the  con- 
trary, detract  from  its  clearness  of  outline. 

All  these  conditions  are  carefully  fulfilled   in   the  eye,  as 
vou  will  see  by  reference  to  the  accompanying  diagram. 


170 


SATURDAY   LECTURES. 


Fig.  2.  « 

You  have  in  the  first  place  tlie  outer  box  or  shell  in  the 
sclerotic  coat,  (S,)  which  is  a  tough  membrane  forming  the 
posterior  four-fifths  of  the  ball.  The  anterior,  one-fifth,  is 
formed  by  the  cornea,  (C,)  which  is  only  a  continuation  of 
the  sclerotic  with  the  remarkable  and  highly  important  dif- 
ference that  it  is  transparent.  This  cornea  being  a  curved 
surface,  acts  upon  the  light  in  the  same  manner  as  the  lens 
in  Fig.  1,  and  forms  one  of  the  two  refracting  surfaces  which 
produce  the  images  of  objects. in  the  external  world  upon 
the  expansion  of  the  optic  nerve  (On)  at  the  back  of  the 
eye  called  the  retina,  (R.)  The  other  refracting  body  is 
the  crystalline  lens,  (L.)  The  iris  (I)  represents  the  dia- 
phragm, and  the  hole  in  it  is  the  pupil.  The  choroid  coat, 
(Ch,)  while  holding  the  greater  part  of  the  blood-vessels 
which  nourish  the  eye,  also  contains  a  large  quantity  of 
pigment,  which  serves  the  purpose  of  the  black  lining  of 
the  photographer's  camera.  We  have  thus  all  the  essential 
parts  of  a  perfect  optical  instrument,  and  by  the  large  ma- 
jority of  persons  the  eye  is  considered  the  most  nearly  per- 
fect of  all  instruments  of  its  class  from  a. merely  physical 


now    WK   SEE.  1  /  1 

standpoint.  This  is,  however,  a  <:;rcat  error.  Considered  as 
an  optical  instrument,  wliose  function  it  is  to  form  the  clear- 
est possible  imaj;e,  it  is  defective  in  almost  all  its  parts,  and 
does  not  hoggin  to  aj)proach  the  best  work  of  the  same  kind 
as  done  by  man.  Ilelmnolt/.,  the  jjijreat  German  physicist, 
lias  saicl  that  if  an  optician  were  to  send  him  an  instrument 
so  badly  constructed  as  tlie  eye,  he  would  return  it  to  him 
with  a  severe  reprimand  for  liis  carelessness.  But  we  must 
bear  in  mind  that  the  eye  is  an  or^an  of  sense  as  well  as  an 
optical  hislrument,  and  with  all  its  defects,  is  caj)al)l(!  of  ren- 
dering us  most  efficient  service. 

As  I  have  said,  the  function  of  the  e^'e  proi)er  is  to  form 
elcarly-delined  inverted  images  on  the  retina.  The  impres- 
sion or  changes  produced  b^'this  image  are  convej'ed  to  the 
brain  by  means  of  the  optic  nerve,  and  are  there  converted 
into  a  .sensation.  A  confused  image  will  cause  a  confused 
sensation,  and  a  clearly-defined  image  a  corresponding  sen- 
sation. It  is,  therefore,  of  the  highest  importance  that  we 
always  haveretinal  images  whose  outlines  are  sharp  and  dis- 
tinct. This  is  very  easily  accompushed  when  the  object 
and  the  retina  occupy  certain  rekitive  positions  to  each 
other.  It  is  one  of  the  laws  of  optics  that  when  the  object 
is  at  a  certain  di.stance  (within  specified  limits)  from  the 
lens  the  image  will  be  formed  at  a  certain  distance  from 
it  on  the  other  side.  If  the  distance  of  the  object  is  changed, 
the  distance  of  the  image  from  the  lens  will  also  be  altercl. 

Now.  in  using  the  eyes, give  look  at  objects  within  a  few 
inches  of  us  and  also  at  those  at  immense  distances.  The 
range  of  acconnnodation,  as  it  is  called,  extends  from  four 
inches  from  the  eye  to  infinity.  If  we  are  to  have  clearly 
defined  images  of  all  objects  in  this  extensive  range  some 
<hange  must  take  place  in  the  eye  corresponding  to  t.iie 
change  in  the  distance  of  the  object.  Now  this  can  be  ac- 
complished in  ohe  of  two  ways — either  by  a  change  in  the 
distance  between  the  lens  and  the  retina,  or  by  an  increa.se 
in  the  curvature  of  the  refracting  surfaces.  The  first  of 
these  cannot  be  readily  accomplished,  because  the  eye  can- 
not be  made  longer,  (though   it   was  once  supposed  that    it 


172 


SATURDAY    LECTURES. 


could.)  The  adaptation  or  accommodation  of  the  eye,  there- 
fore, for  distinct  vision  at  different  distances  is  affected  by 
the  other  method ;  that  is,  by  a  change  in  the  curvature  of 
one  of  its  two  refracting  surfaces.  It  has  been  abundantly 
demonstrated  by  observation  that  this  change  is  effected  by 
an  increase  in  the  curvature  of  the  crystalline  lens,  brought 
about  by  the  action  of  a  muscle  situated  on  the  interior  of 
the  eye  called  the  ciliary  muscle,  (Cm,  Fig.  2.)  By  the  con- 
traction of  this  muscle  the  lens  is  rendered  more  convex, 
and  objects  lying  nearer  the  eye  have  their  objects  formed 
more  clearly  on  the  retina.  A  reference  to  the  diagram 
(Fig.  3)  will  show  how  this  is  accomplished.  When  the  ob- 
ject is  situated  at  A  the  image  is  formed  on  the  retina,  R,  at 
a,  when  it  is  at  B  it  is  formed  t)ehind  the  retina  at  b.  In 
order,  therefore,  when  the  object  is  at  B,  to  have  its  image 
at  a,  the  lens,  L,  must  be  made  more  convex,  as  shown  by 
the  dotted  line. 


Fig.  3- 

It  is  this  failure  of  the  power  of  accommodation  or  adap- 
tation of  the  eyes  to  objects  close  at  hand  wliich  constitutes 
presbyopia  or  old  eyes.  With  ffdvancing  age  the  ciliary 
muscle  becomes  stiff  and  less  powerful,  and  the  lens  becomes 
harder  and  alters  its  shape  less  readily,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  near  vision  is  rendered  less  perfect.  This  is  reme- 
died by  placing  in  front  of  the  eye  a  lens  which  represents 
the  power  that  has  been  lost  by  the  crystalline  lens.  Quite 
the  contrary  of  the  generally  accepted  belief  the  eye  does 
not  become  materially  flatter  with  age. 

We  have  now  the  image  of  the  external  object  pictured 
clearly  and  distinctly  upon  the  expansion  of  the  optic  nerve 
at  the  bottom  of  the  eye,  and  with  this  the  whole  of  the 
function  of  the  eye  as  an  optical  instrument  is  ended. 


How    \VK    SEK. 


173 


In  a  gcncnil  way  the-  cvc  is  considercfl  by  tlu-  large 
majority  of  persons  as  bein*;  the  ortjjan  of  vision,  whereas, 
in  truth,  it  is  only  one  of  the  organ>  eoncerned  in  bringing 
about  the  sensation  of  sight.  The  eye  may  be  anatomically 
in  a  perfectly  healthy  condition,  and  the  images  of  objects 
niav  be  formed  with  the  greatest  clearness  and  distinctness 
on  thr  ntina.  and.  yet,  the  power  of  seeing  be  wanting. 
TIk  image  formed  on  the  retina  produces  only  an  imprca- 
sioii,  and  this  must  be  converted  into  a  sensation  before  the 
act  of  vision  is  accomplished.  This  conversion  takes  place 
in  the  brain.  That  there  is  a  certain  portion  of  the  brain 
which  presides  over  the  function  of  vision,  and  turns  all 
the  impression  sent  to  it  from  the  retina  through  the  oi)tic 
nerve  into  sensations,  seems  (f  early  demonstrated  by  numer- 
ous experiments  on  the  lower  animals.  The  eye.  therefore, 
is  only  one  of  the  instruments  of  vision. 

Let  us  HOW  i)roceed  to  inquire  what  it  is  we  learn  by  the 
act  of  seeing — what  knowledge  of  the  external  world  is 
brought  to  the  mind  through  the  medium  of  the  eye.  We 
learn,  tirst,  the  j)Osition  of  objects  in  space;  their  distance 
from  us  and  eacli  other  ;  their  form,  size,  and  color. 

It  may  be  premised  that  very  little  of  our  knowledge  ob- 
tained by  the  .sense  of  vision  is  furnished  alone  by  the 
images  formed  on  the  retina.  In  the  development  of  the 
intellect  the  .scn.ses  of  sight  ami  touch  go  hand  in  hand. 
In  fact  some  recent  speculations  seem  to  point  to  the  fact 
that  sight  is  ordy  a  highW  developed  sense  of  touch.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  this  important  fact  is  clearly  established, 
that  the  sense  of  sight  is  an  educated  sense.  It  is  not  in- 
born; it  is  not  in.stinctivc,  at  least,  in  the  higher  forms  of 
l)eings.  Every  child  that  is  born  into  the  world  must  learn 
to  see  for  it.self.  As  .soon  as  an  infant  opens  its  i-yes  an  im- 
age is  formed  on  its  retina,  but  that  conveys  to  its  young 
mind  no  definite  knowledge  except,  probably,  as  to  outline. 
Supi)Ose,  for  example,  a  rattle,  with  a  ring  at  one  end,  and 
a  ball  at  the  other,  is  held  before  it.  The  image  of  this  ob- 
ject is  formed  on  the  retina,  but  it  is  upside  down,  as  are  all 
retinal  images.     How  then  is  the  child  to  learn  the  true  re- 


174  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

lation  of  this  object  to  itself?     This  is  a  question  which 
puzzled  philosophers  for  a.  long  time,  and  many  explana- 
tions were  given  to  account  for  it.     By  some  it  was  supposed 
that  in  some  way  the  image  was  "righted  "  before  it  reached 
the  retina,  by  others,  it  was  thought  that  it  was  turned  right 
side  up  on  its  passage  from  the  retina  to  the  brain.     But  it 
is  by  no  means  necessary  to  assume  any  such  mysterious 
processes.     The  explanation,  when  we  once  find  it,  is  sim- 
ple enough.     The  image,  as  we  have  before  remarked,  is 
undoubtedly  formed  upside  down  on  the  retina.     But  we 
must  bear  in  mind  that  this  image  only  produces  an  im- 
pression— the  interpretation  of  this  impression  is  made  b}'- 
the  brain  through  the  faculty  we  call  the  judgment.     Now 
the  judgment  is  often  the  result  of  several  impressions,  re- 
ceived, it  may  be,  from  several  different  sources.     In  the 
case  of  the  rattle,  the  impression  made  by  the  image  must 
be  verified  by  the  impression  of  touch.     The  infant  reaches 
out  its  hand  and  finds  that  the  globular  end  of  the  rattle 
corresponds  in  direction  to  its  feet  or  downward,  while  the 
ring  end  corresponds  to  an  upward  direction  or  towards  its 
head.     It  does  not  make  any  difference  that  the  lower  or 
round  end  of  the  image  corresponds  to  the  upper  part  of 
the  object,  and  vice  versa.     The  position  of  the  retinal  image 
is  a  matter  of  no  importance,  so  long  as  the  judgment, 
guided  by  touch,  places  the  object  in  its  proper  relation  with 
the  individual  and  surrounding  objects.     Physiologists  call 
this  placing  of  objects  properly  in  space  the  "law  of  pro- 
jection," which,  being  interpreted,  means  that  all  impres- 
sions made  on  the  upper  parts  of  the  retina  are  "projected" 
01'  referred  downward,  and  all  impressions  made  on  the 
lower  parts  of  the  retina  are  projected  upward ;  and  as  the 
relative  position  of  the  objects  in  the  external  world  are  in 
no  wise  affected  by  their  inverted  images  on  the  retina,  no 
confusion  can  arise. 

The  same  principle  applies  when  we  judge  of  the  distance 
and  size  of  objects.  The  size  of  a  retinal  image  gives  us  no 
idea  whatever  of  the  size  of  the  object  or  its  distance  from 
us.      These  two  ideas   are   inseparably  connected    in   the 


HOW    \VI';    SEE.  17t) 

mind.  'V\\o  .listaiu-e  of  an  oltjcct  from  us  gives  us  impor- 
tant datu  fur  tV>rniing  judiinient  as  to  its  size  and  thu  size 
of  it  if  known,  enables  us  to  form  an  idea  of  its  distance. 
You  will  readily  see  the  truth  of  thit^,  when  you  know 
that  a  live  cent  piece,  held  a  few  inches  from  the  eye, 
forms  as  lar^e  a  retinal  imaue  as  the  sun  which  is  many 
millions  of  miles  further  oil.  Physiologists  would  tell  you 
that  they  both  subtend  the  same  visual  angle.  So  if  we  wish 
to  have  a  definite  idea  of  the  actual  size  of  an  object  we 
must  know  its  distance  from  us;  and,  on  the  other  hand, in 
order  to  judge  of  the  distance  of  an  object,  by  the  size  of  the 
retinal  image,  we  must  know  its  size  as  compared  with  other 
objects.  In  the  judgment  of  distance,  however,  there  are 
other  factors  not  to  be  overlooked.  One  of  the  most  im- 
portant of  these  is  what  is  called  the  "  muscular  sense."  In 
looking  at  objects  close  at  hand  we  bring  into  play  the  ac- 
commodation of  the  eye  which,  as  I  have  already  told  you, 
is  brought  about  by  the  jtction  of  the  ciliary  muscle.  The 
nearer  objects  are  to  us  the  stronger  must  be  the  action  of 
the  muscle  in  order  that  we  see  distinctly,  and  we  come 
naturally  to  associate  a  strong  effort  of  the  accommodation 
power  with  nearness  of  the  object.  The  amount  of  conver- 
gence of  the  two  eyes,  which  is  necessary  in  order  that  both 
be  fixed  upon  the  same  object,  also  furnishes  us  with  im- 
portant knowledge  of  the  distance  of  objects  from  us. 

We  come  now  to  consider  one  of  the  most  remarkable  at- 
tributes of  objects,  a  knowledge  of  which  is  given  us  through 
the  eye.  We  allude  to  that  wonderful  quality  called  color. 
In  the  .strict  sense  of  the  word,  however,  no  object  is  colored. 
Color  is  a  property  of  light,  while  those  objects  whicli  aj)- 
pear  to  us  colored  simply  decompose  the  light  falling  on 
them  into  its  different  color  constituents,  sending  to  the  eye 
some  one  or  more  and  absorbing  the  others.  For  ordinary 
purposes,  however,  it  is  more  convenient  to  consider  color 
a.s  belonging  to  the  object,  but  we  must  bear  in  mind,  at  tlie 
same  time,  that  each  color  is  represented  physically  by  a 
certain  number  of  vibrations  of  the  luminiferous  ether. 
Thus,  451    million    million   vibrations   of   the   ether  in  a 


176 


SATURDAY    LECTURES. 


second  of  time  represent  the  color  we  call  red,  while  789 
million  million  vibrations  correspond  to  violet,  and  so  on. 
An  object  we  call  red,  therefore,  sends  to  us  from  the  white 
light  falling  upon  it  those  waves  of  the  ether  which  make 
451  million  million  vibrations  per  second.  All  the  other 
wave  lengths  of  the  ether  are  lost,  and  most  probably  by- 
having  their  motion  converted  into  a  molecular  vibration 
of  the  substance  of  the  object. 

When  we  call  to  mind  the  great  number  of  separate  colors 
and  the  infinite  variety  of  their  shades,  which  we  recognize 
as  distinct  sensations,  we  at  once  appreciate  the  extraordi- 
nary delicacy  of  perception  by  the  visual  apparatus. 

The  satisfactory  explanation  of  color  perception  has  al- 
ways been  among  the  most  difficult  problems  with  which 
the  physiologist  has  had  to  deal.  The  theory  on  this  sub- 
ject which  has  held  the  longest  sway  over  the  largest  num- 
ber of  minds  is  that  of  Young,  as  revived  by  Helmholtz. 
Until  within  the  last  few  years  few  or  no  physiologists  had 
the  temerity  to  doubt  the  sufficiency  of  this  hypotliesis. 

This  theory  starts  out  on  the  basis  that  there  are  three 
fundamental  or  primary  colors,  by  the  proper  admixture  of 
which  all  other  colors  and  shades  of  colors  can  be  produced. 
It  is  now  the  popular  opinion,  wdiich  Avas  formerl}^  upheld 
by  scientific  authority,  that  these  so-called  primary  colors 
are  red,  yellow,  and  blue,  because  from  a  mixture  of  pig- 
ments of  these  colors  the  painter  can  produce  a  large  num- 
ber of  the  colors  he  finds  of  use  in  the  practice  of  his  art. 
When,  however,  we  come  to  deal  with  the  pure  colors  of-  the 
spectrum  we  find  that  these  are  not  the  fundamental  colors. 
It  has  been  found  that  from  the  mixture  of  spectral  red, 
green,  and  violet,  all  the  other  colors  of  the  spectrum  can  be 
produced,  and,  also,  that  when  these  colors  are  mixed  in  due 
proportion  white  is  the  result.  For  this  reason,  red,  green, 
and  violet  have  been  accepted  as  the  primary  colors  by 
most  modern  scientists. 

Newton  believed  that  the  particles  representing  the  indi- 
vidual colors  (according  to  his  emission  theory)  affected  the 
retina  "  according  to  their  nature  and  bigness,"  but  Young 


now    \VK    SKE.  1  ,  / 

tliouj^lit  it  inipossiMc  thnt  tlif  iitiiiii  -lumld  l>f  aide  t<»  re- 
ceive or  the  optic  iicivc  should  caiiy  so  man}'  .sepanitc  and 
distinct  impressions  to  the  hrain.  He,  therefore,  assnnied 
that  there  were  in  the  retina  three  iieive  lihres  which  were 
affected  principally  l»y  the  wave  lengths  ot'  ether  i'ej)rescnting 
red,  ureen,  and  violet.  Thesi'  lihres  we  will  call  the  wd 
lihre,  tiie  ••reen  libre,  and  the  violet  tibre.  When  all  of 
these  fibres  are  afieeted  in  eijual  proportion  the  sensation 
jirodueed  is  wliite,  the  absence  of  all  sensation  is  Idack. 
When  the  red  tiljre  is  aftectctf  we  have  a  sensation  of  red; 
when  tlje  fjiven  Hl)re  is  affected  the  sensation  is  green;  when 
the  red  and  green  fibres  are  afieeted  together  the  sensation 
is  yellow:  and  so  on  for  all  the  colors  with  their  coinbina- 
tions  and  shades.  Xow  this  is  all  very  sirjiple  and  plausi- 
ble. It  is  true  no  one  has  ever  seen  the  fibres,  but,  so  much 
has  t(»  he  taken  for  gi-anted  in  this  department  of  scientific 
investigation,  that  this  point  might  readily  he  conceded  if 
there  were  no  other  obstacles  in  theway  of  an  acceptance 
of  the  theory.  Nearly  all  the  })henomena  of  colored  vision 
can  be  accounted  for  on  this  hypothesis  if  we  so  modify  it 
as  to  allow  of  some  action  on  both  the  green  and  violet 
fibres  by  the  red  rays,  and  some  action  on  the  green  by  the 
red  and  violet,  and  on  the  violet  bv  the  red  and  srrcen-  For 
myself,  this  necessary  admission  destroys  the  simplicity  and 
l)cauty  of  the  hypothesis,  for  T  hold  that  tlie  phenomena  of 
vision,  when  thoroughly  understood,  will  be  found  to  be  ex- 
tremely simple  in  their  character  and  in  keeping  with  the 
kno\Tn  laws  of  light  and  its  action  on  simple  bodies. 

But  the  great  and  insurmountable  objection  to  the  hypoth- 
esis is  that  it  cannot  account  in  a  satisfactory  manner  for 
all  the  phenomena  of  color-blindness.  An  acceptable  theory 
in  regard  to  the  function  of  an  organ  in  liealth  must  account 
al.^^o  for  all  the  derangements  of  that  function. 

Without  entering  into  any  details,  it  may  be  hrieHy  stated 
that  there  are  some  phenomena  presented  by  the  color-blind, 
which  cannot  be  satisfactorily  explained  by  the  Young- 
Helmholtz  hypothesis.  Physiologists  are,  therefore,  becom- 
ing dissatisfied  with  it.  an<l  are  seeking  for  one  which  shall 
12 


178  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

be  more  in  keeping  with  known  facts,  and  more  in  accord- 
ance with  operation  of  analogous  functions  in  the  human 
body. 

The  theor}'  of  Prof.  Hering,  of  Prague,  has  received  most 
attention  from  those  who  have  been  bold  enough  to  reject 
the  hypothesis  of  Young. 

This  theory  presupposes  the  existence  in  the  retina  of 
three  chemical  substances,  which,  on  account  of  their  pre- 
sumed functions,  are  called  the  red-green  substance,  the  hlue- 
yellow  substance,  and  the  hlach-wliite  substance. 

An  action  of  light  on  the  red-green  substance,  which  tends 
to  decompose  it,  produces  red;  wdiile  an  action  which  tends 
to  regenerate  it  produces  green.  A  decomposing  action 
of  light  on  the  blue-yellow  substance  causes  a  sensation  of 
yellow;  a  regenerating  action,  the  sensation  of  blue;  while 
a  destruction  of  the  white-black  substance  produces  white, 
its  regeneration  black.  According  to  this  theory  there  are 
three  pairs  of  opposing  colors,  (including  white  and  black,) 
and  the  fundamental  colors  are  four,  red,  green,  blue,  and 
yellow,  and  the  so-called  complementary^  colors  are  in  reality 
antagonistic.  Thus  you  see  Hering's  theory  is  more  com- 
plicated than  that  of  Young,  likewise  demands  the  accept- 
ance of  unproved  and  unprovable  postulates,  and  makes 
even  greater  draughts  upon  our  scientific  faith.  It  has  this 
advantage  over  its  rival,  however,  that  it  explains  in  a 
much  more  satisfactory  manner  some  of  the  phenomena  of 
color-blindness. 

The  fundamental  objection  to  this  theory,  as  to  thtt  of 
Young-Helmholtz,  is  that  it  presupposes  the  existence  of 
new  tissues,  the  like  of  wdiich  are  not  found  in  any  other 
part  of  the  human  body,  and  novel  reactions  of  these  tissues 
to  light.  It  may  be  accepted  as  a  law  of  universal  applica- 
tion that  Nature  always  works  in  the  simplest  manner  pos- 
sible, and  we  have  no  right  to  suppose  that  the  function  of 
vision  forms  any  exception  to  the  rule.  Is  it  possible  to  ac- 
count for  the  perception  of  colors  in  a  simple  and  direct 
manner  ?  I  think  it  is,  and  that,  too,  without  doing  any 
violence  to  laws,  the  existence  of  w^hicli  has  been  estab- 


now  wr:  sek.  179 

lishod  by  proof  as  positive  as  science  can  furnish  us.  I 
have  endeavored  to  do  this  in  a  paper  read  before  the  Philo- 
sophical Society  of  this  city,  in  December,  1880. 

It  NVituld  not  be  pertinent,  at  this  time,  to  enter  into  an 
elaborate  exposition  of  this  theor}'.  Let  it  suffice  to  say 
that  the  two  fundamental  facts  on  which  it  is  based  are: 
1st.  The  evidence  which  com|)arative  anatomy  and  physi- 
ology furnish  that  the  eye  is  but  a  highly  specialized  nerve 
of  common  sensation.  It  is  a  fact  which  has  been  thoroughly 
well  established  by  observation  that  certain  of  the  lower 
animals  are  affected  by  light  over  the  whole  extent  of  their 
external  surface.  As  wc  ascend  higher  in  the  scale  of  exis- 
tence the  differentiation  of  function  becomes  greater,  and 
while  the  grosser  effects  of  the  ether  vibration  are  still  felt 
in  the  form  of  heat  on  the  surface  of  the  body,  tlu;  liner 
vibrations  are  appreciated  only  in  certain  restricted  locali- 
ties known  as  eyes;  for  it  is  a  fact  which  is  disputed,  1  think, 
by  no  one  that  heat  and  light  are  both  due  to  vibrations  of 
the  same  ether,  differing  in  degree  onl}^  and  not  at  all  in 
kiml. 

Prof.  Preyer,  of  Jena,  has,  within  the  last  few  months, 
advanced  very  similar  views,  and  shows  that  the  sense  of 
heat  and  the  sense  of  sight  bear  a  very  strong  analogy  to 
each  other.  The  second  fact  is  the  reaction  of  simple  sub- 
stances to  hght,  as  manifested  by  a  change  in  their  molecu- 
lar structure.  It  has  long  been  known  that  certain  colors 
have  greater  chemical  powers,  for  instance,  than  others. 
Th*  so-called  actinic  power  of  blue  or  violet  is  greater  than 
that  of  yellow.  This  is  only  a  short  method  of  stating  the 
fact  that  the  change  in  the  molecidar  structure  of  the  afi'ected 
body  is  much  greater  by  light  rays  of  short-wave  lengths 
than  it  is  by  light  rays  of  longer-wave  lengths.  The  action 
of  light  on  the  metal  silenium,  and  on  other  substances 
used  in  the  construction  of  the  photophone,  is  an  example 
more  to  the  point.  Not  only  is  the  electric  conductability 
of  these  substances  modified  by  slight  changes  in  the  inten- 
sity of  the  light  waves,  but  Prof.  Bell  has  found  that  this 
variation  in  conductability,  which   only  re])resents  change 


180  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

ill  molecular  structure,  is  also  different  for  the  different 
colors.  Moreover,  the  effect  of  this  change  in  molecular 
structure  is  conve3'ed  to  great  distances  through  other 
media,  and  there  makes  itself  manifest  under  the  same  or 
some  other  form. 

It  is  thus  evident  that  in  the  inorganic  world  the  light 
rays  do  produce  different  affects,  as  manifested  by  molecular 
change,  according  to  their  different  wave-lengths.  We  have 
only  to  apply  this  law  to  the  action  of  light  on  the  retina 
to  have  a  theor}"  of  colors  at  once  simple,  and  strictly  in 
accordance  with  known  })rinciples,  and  without  the  necessity 
of  inventing  new  tissues  or  extraordinary  reactions  of  tissues 
to  light.  In  this  theory  variation  in  sensation  will  have  its 
basis,  not  in  complexity  of  tissue,  but  solel}'  in  the  varying 
action  of  the  affecting  agent. 

In  accordance  with  this  hypothesis  we  have  onl}-  to  sup- 
pose the  retina  to  be  a  body  whose  molecular  structure  is  so 
delicately  fashioned  as  to  allow  it  to  respond  promptly  to 
the  slightest  variation  in  the  wave-lengths  of  light  raj'^s. 
We  know  that  up  to  a  certain  point  we  can  discriminate 
between  fine  shades  of  intensity  of  light.  The  educated  eye 
of  an  artist  can  detect  as  minute  differences  in  shading  as 
he  can  in  colors.  This  we  must  suppose  is  due  to  the  judg- 
ment which  has  been  educated  to  discriminate  between 
small  differences  as  to  quantity,  and  there  can  be  no  reason 
for  not  supposing  that  we  can  learn  in  like  manner  to  dis- 
tinguish between  small  differences  in  qualit}''  as  manifested 
in  the  slight  alteration  in  the  molecular  arrangement  of  the 
retina  brought  about  by  the  different  colors.  Eveiy  impres- 
sion, therefore,  produced  by  each  color  will  be  conve3'ed  in- 
dependently of  other  impressions  to  the  brain,  and  will  there 
be  turned  into  a  distinct  and  individual  sensation.  But 
even  in  this  theory  there  is  no  necessity  for  supposing  that 
all  the  color  sensations  are  primary.  We  can  have  here,  as 
in  the  other  theories,  a  mixture  of  sensations  in  the  produc- 
tion of  some  colors,  and  the  numerous  combinations  which 
are  known  under  the  name  of  secondary  colors.  Purple, 
for  example,  will  be  the  sensation  resulting  from  a  combi- 


HOW    SVK    SHK.  ISI 

nation  of  till'  two  sensations  of  n-d  ami  Muc.  Tlio  same 
liolds  triu'  for  tlir  browns,  and  tho  various  otlu-r  tints  of 
that  ordor.  TIic  coinhination,  however,  is  made  in  the 
ln'niii  and  not  in  the  retina. 

We  have  now  linally  traced  the  ehan<ijes  whieh  enter  into 
the  })roduetion  of  the  fmiction  of  vision  to  the  brain.  If 
these  changes  stop  anywhere  slu)rt  of  there,  we  have  no  sen- 
sation, no  lii^ht.  In  fact,  it  is  not  vision  at  all,  for  it  is  the 
brain  which  overrules  all.  and  transforms  impressions  into 
thouglit  and  consciousness.  We  see — not  with  the  eye — hut 
with  the  brain — the  eye  bein>5  only  one  of  the  instruments 
which  the  brain  uses  to  bring  to  it  knowledge  of  the  changes 
whieh  tiike  place  in  the  outer  world.  This  knowledge  it 
arranges  and  classifies  under  the  superintendence  of  the 
judgment,  and  we  give  to  it  the  comprehensive  name  of 
vision.  This  knuls  us  to  wliat  was,  for  a  long  time,  consid- 
ered the  boundary  not  only  of  our  actual  knowledge,  but 
even  of  legitimate  s[)eculation.  ("onsciousness  was  consid- 
ered not  only  a  terra  incitgnitd,  but  also  a  Urra  sacra,  within 
whose  hallowed  i)recincts  even  the  boldest  materialist  dare 
not  venture  with  his  unholy  atoms  and  molecules.  But 
true  science  is  always  fearless,  and  pushes  its  way  with  irri- 
sistable  force  into  ever}'  avenue  where  honest  investigation 
offers  for  its  labor  tlie  smallest  modicum  of  new  truth. 

Anatomical  science  lias  traced,  by  its  numerous  and  pa- 
tient di.-^sections,  the  optic  nerve  to  its  termination  in  a 
certain  portion  of  the  brain.  As  nothing  in  the  workings 
of  Nature  is  ever  purpo.seless,  we  are  bound  to  believe  that 
as  the  nerves  always  end  in  the  same  part  of  the  brain,  the 
lirain  in  that  immediate  vicinity  mu.st  have  .some  connec- 
nection  with  transformation  of  liglit  waves  into  vision. 
Then  the  vivisi'ctionist  came  forward  with  that  knife,  whose 
supposed  cruelties  have  been  so  elo<[Uently  sung  by  a  thou- 
sand sentimental  tongues,  and  lemoved  that  particular  {»or- 
tion  of  the  brain  from  the  living  creature,  and  the  animal 
became  completely  blintl.  Thus  one  more  stone  of  trutii 
was  added  to  the  slowly  growing  temple  of  human  knowl- 
edge, and  to-day  every  physiologist   will   tell  you  that  the 


182  SATURDAY   LECTURES. 

sense  of  vision  resides  in  the  cortical  substance  of  the  pos- 
terior cerebral  lobes. 

But  the  human  mind,  ever  unsatisfied  with  its  present 
knowledge,  inquires  still  further,  and  asks  what  are  the 
alterations  which  take  place  in  that  particular  portion  of 
the  brain  when  the  changes  Avrotight  by  the  light  waves  on 
the  retina  are  brought  to  it  through  the  medium  of  the 
optic  nerve? 

Let  us,  for  a  moment,  look  at  it  dispassionately  and  with- 
out prejudice,  as  becomes  all  seekers  after  the  truth.  Let  us 
remember  in  the  first  place  that  we  have  been  all  the  while 
dealing  with  matter.  The  object  to  be  seen  is  material,  the 
ether,  if  it  exists,  must  be  material ;  and  we  know  that  the 
optic  nerve  and  retina  are  matter,  and  the  brain  is  a  sub- 
stance analogous  to  these  in  anatomical  structure. 

If  we  take  a  self-luminous  body  as  the  object,  we  know 
that  molecular  change,  in  the  form  of  motion,  forms  the 
first  link  in  the  chain  of  sequences  of  which  we  spoke  at 
the  outset  of  this  lecture  as  necessary  for  the  function  of 
vision.  These  motions  are  communicated  to  the  surround- 
ing ether,  and  by  it  are  carried  to  the  retina.  Have  we  any 
right  to  suppose  that  the  molecular  motion  stops  there? 
Certainly  not.  There  is  no  fact  yet  demonstrated  which 
militates  against  it,  and  in  this  hand  to  hand  warfare  of 
Science  against  the  hidden  secrets  of  Nature  we  claim  all' 
to  be  for  us  which  is  not  positively  against  us.  On  this 
principle,  therefore,  we  are  amply  justified  in  assuming  that 
the  ether  has  only  been  the  medium  of  transference  of  mol- 
ecular motion  from  the  body  to  the  retina.  This  motion  is 
then  transferred  through  the  optic  nerve  to  the  demonstrated 
center  of  vision  in  the  brain.  Does  molecular  change  in 
the  form  of  motion  end  even  then?  Having  followed  it 
thus  far  we  can  see  no  satisfying  reason  why  it  should. 
And  the  last  link  in  the  chain  which  is  discernable  by  our 
short-sighted  vision  is  a  change,  manifested  by  a  form  of 
motion  in  the  ultimate  molecules  of  the  brain.  How  this 
motion  of  the  molecules  is  converted  into  consciousness  is  a 
problem  for  the  solution  of  which  we  have  not  even  the 


now     \VK    SKE. 


183 


rudiment  of  a  t'aruliy.  Wc  only  know  that  the  phenomenon 
beiran  as  motion,  and  that  as  motion  it  ended.  But  beyond — 
ah,  beyond — is  an  imi)enctrable  (hirkness.  We  emerged  from 
an  eternity  of  ignorance,  we  end  at  the  brink  of  an  eternity  of 
the  unknowable.  In  the  infinitesmally  short  span  between 
tlK'se  two  mighty  eternities  we  are  permitted  to  examine 
into  tlu'  workings  of  Nature's  hiws.  to  follow  out  their  rela- 
tions to  each  other,  and  ajiply  them,  as  far  as  we  are  able, 
to  the  ex[)lanation  of  the  phenomena  l)y  which  we  are  sur- 
rounded; but  of  the  origins  of  these  laws  we  are,  as  scien- 
tist.s,  in  utter  ignorance.  Wc  have  not  been  i)rovided  with 
a  power  to  grasp  at  even  the  l)eginning  of  an  idea  which 
would  lead  us  nearer  a  solution  of  these  problems  than  we 
now  are.  And  as  at  the  beginning  so  at  the  end.  There 
are  some  things  which  are  not  only  unknown  but  unknow- 
able. It  is  utterly  impossible  that  we  can  ever  know  how 
light  waves  or  sound  waves  are  converted  by  the  material 
organ  of  the  brain  into  consciousness  and  thought.  That 
this  is  accomi>lishod  by  the  brain  we  know,  and  that  it  is 
throuuh  a  change  in  its  molecular  structure  admits  hardly 
of  a  doubt,  but  there  we  must  pause.  We  have  reached  the 
limits  of  our  {possible  knowledge,  and  from  any  attempt  at 
penetrating  the  darkness  beyond  even  the  imagination 
shrinks,  overwhelmed  by  the  consciousness  of  its  utter 
powerlessness  and  incapacity. 

And  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  have  tinished  all  we 
designed  to  tell  you  of  what  we  know  of  one  of  the  most 
important  and  wonderful  faculties  with  which  we  are  en- 
dowed, and  we  have  also  given  you  some  concei)tion  of  the 
amount  we  do  not  know,  and  from  the  very  nature  of  things 
can  never  know.  This  latter,  as  compared  with  the  former, 
is  inmiense,  but  when  we  come  to  consider  how  wonderful 
and  surprisingly  beautiful  it  all  is,  we  can  only  be  glad  that 
we  are  permitted  to  know  and  enjoy  as  much  actual  knowl- 
edge as  we  do.  I  could  have  confmod  myself,  in  these  re- 
marks, to  a  description  and  experimental  demonstration  of 
some  of  the  beautiful  laws  of  light  and  vision  which  science 
has  unraveled  out  of  the  eternal  mv.sterv,  and  we  could  have 


184  SATURDAY    LECTURES. 

boasted  of  the  numerous  secrets  wrested  from  nature's  hidden 
store-house  of  facts  Iw  the  patient  and  persistent  inquirers 
in  this  department  of  scientific  investigation.  But  true 
science  never  exalts  itself — is  never  puffed  up.  It  is  as  dili- 
gent in  seeking  out  error  as  it  is  in  finding  a  new  fact.  It 
holds  no  opinion  to  be  final.  The  mind  of  the  true  scientist 
is  always  in  a  plastic  condition,  ready  to  take  that  form  and 
shape  which  well-founded  data  warrant,  and  is  ever  willing 
to  change  it  as  the  facts  demand.  The  scientific  gentlemen 
who  have  preceded  me  in  this  cour.se  of  lectures  have  laid 
before  you  knowledge  gained  from  many  widely-differ- 
ing fields  of  research,  but  they  have  never  insisted  on  the 
acceptance  of  a  single  opinion  that  was  not  laid  in  facts,  or 
was  not  in  strict  accordance  with  well-demonstrated  laws. 
Theories  and  hj^potheses  are,  it  is  true,  not  to  be  discarded 
because  in  the  present  imperfect  state  of  human  knowledge 
positive  ideas  are  often  impossible,  but  only  that  one  should  be 
accepted  which  comes  nearest  to  the  truth  as  we  know  it.  Dog- 
matism and  bigotry  should  find  no  place  in  the  intellectual 
make  up  of  the  scientific  mind.  And  if  I  understand  aright 
the  purpose  of  these  Saturday  scientific  lectures,  it  is  not  only 
that  you  shall  become  acquainted  with  the  discoveries  and 
advances  of  modern  science — most  of  which  you  could  learn 
by  a  study  of  books  and  the  reading  of  the  scientific  periodi- 
cals of  the  day — but  that  you  might  feel  and  understand 
t"he  attitude  of  Science  towards  man  and  his  intellectual  and 
moral  advancement.  The  time  was  when  .science  was  con- 
sidered the  greatest  enemy  of  mankind,  when  scientists  were 
imprisoned  and  put  to  death,  and  to  seek  the  truth  as  it  was 
to  be  found  in  Nature  was  considered  blasphemy.  But  the 
new  era  is  dawning,  and  it  is  the  scientist  who  has  opened 
up  the  way.  The  Avatchword  of  the  hour  is  Truth  !  and  to 
whom  is  this  more  dear  than  to  the  man  of  science.  His 
whole  life  is  spent  in  an  untiring  search  after  it.  The  ob- 
jective point  of  his  every  action  and  thought  is  the  truth. 
He  never  fears  what  effect  any  new  fact  may  have  upon 
any  preconceived  opinion,  however  dear  it  may  be  to  him. 
He  only  asks,  is  it  true  ?     The  truth  in  nature  is  the  idol  of 


iiDW   \VK  ski;.  185 

his  afrcctions,  ami  In;  loves  it,  with  a  lovo  surpassing,'  that,  of 
woman.  Wc  do  not  claim  lor  the  whole  bod}'  of  s<i(;ntili(: 
men  such  singlc-mindedncss  of  purpose,  but  we  do  claim 
that  the  tendency  of  scientific  investigation  is  to  develop 
these  higher  and  better  faculties  of  man.  What  more  com- 
pletely rounded  character  can  be  fouiul  that  was  embodied 
in  him  whose  recent  death  has  carried  a  sense  of  irreparable 
loss  to  the  heart  of  the  whole  civili/.ed  world.  In  after  ages 
when  the  world  makes  up  its  roll  of  great  and  perfect  men, 
the  name  of  Charles  Robert  Darwin  will  be  found  high 
on  the  list.  Tndilferent  to  the  scoffs  and  jeers  of  his  detrac- 
tors, he  ke{)t  his  eye  single  to  the  eternal  vei'ity  of  Nature. 
With  that  he  was  content,  and  in  it  he  found  his  all-sufhcient 
reward. 

And  when  a  few  days  ago  he  was  carried  to  his  last  rest- 
ing place  in  the  mausoleum  of  England's  great  dead,  and 
placed  by  the  side  of  her  immortal  Newton,  science  might 
justly  consider  that  her  hour  of  triumph  had  come,  and  that 
she  had  won  the  recognition  she  claims.  That  the  man 
whose  theory  on  its  first  promulgation  was  considered  a  by- 
word of  reproach,  should  have  his  name  mentioned  with 
reverence,  and  his  greatness  and  worth  acknowledged  from 
places  which  denounced  him  but  twenty  years  ago,  is  a 
spectacle  which  is  without  a  parallel  in  the  history  of 
science. 

It  may  be  truly  said  of  him.  as  one  of  our  poets  has  said 
of  our  beloved  Wyman.  that  il  was  his  high  [>rivilcge — 

"  To  feel  mysterious  Nature  ever  new. 
To  touch,  if  not  to  grasp,  her  erniless  clew. 
And  learn  by  each  discovery  how  to  wait; 
To  widen  knowledge  and  escape  the  praise 
Wisely  to  teach,  because  more  wise  to  learn ; 
To  toil  for  science,  not  to  draw  men's  ga/c. 
But  for  her  lore  of  self-denial  stern  ; 
That  such  a  nuin  could  spring  from  our  decays. 
Fans  the  soul's  nobler  faith  until  it  burn." 


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